


Son of Magic

by PurplePebbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Possessive Tom Riddle, Powerful Harry, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Time Travel, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18316175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePebbles/pseuds/PurplePebbles
Summary: After decades of war, the world is on the brink of destruction, with no hope for survival. The only way to go on is to travel back in time and change everything that's gone wrong, starting with Tom Riddle. That's how Harry Potter found himself in 1941, a time he had hoped never to find himself in again. Why 1941? Death has a pretty messed up sense of humour, that's why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't want to keep you all from reading the story, but I just had to start by thanking my brilliant beta KingOMalley who has been a vital part in keeping this story flowing and error free. Thanks for all your patience and the time you're investing in helping me out!

* * *

 

**June 23rd, 2367**

**London, England**   
  
The world has been at war for over a century, and these days no one knows what peace feels like. Peace is so far removed from the scopes of reality that it has long since become a forgotten concept, not even whispered to the scared babes at night.   
  
No, regrettably peace has not held reign over the world for far too many years. Instead, it has been ruled by conflict, hostility, and fear, creating an age of war the likes of which has never been seen before.   
  


One hundred and thirty-eight years ago muggles found out about the wizarding world, a discovery which led to worldwide panic and chaos.   
  
Muggles around the whole world became terrified and untrusting, caging themselves inside their homes for fear of their own shadows, but they didn't hide forever. No, it didn't take long for their paranoia to fester and grow. Terrified animals that they were, they quickly turned around to strike, too afraid that the wizarding world would be the first to destroy them.   
  
No amount of diplomacy could get the muggle masses to understand the fact that they had been living in co-existence for centuries, even if they had been largely ignorant of it. And so, war broke out and hasn't stopped since.   
  
The muggles were afraid, and they never stopped being afraid. That fear fueled their hatred and their agenda to destroy anything magical in the world - anything they didn't understand and couldn't control.   
  
The first to go was the laughter and joy from all the adults because they knew how severely the world was going to change, but it didn't take long for the children to learn that there was nothing left to laugh about. Then all the children were gone.   
  
Hope for peace was the next to vanish. After decades of never-ending battles, bloodshed, and loss there seemed to be no escaping the nightmare that has become everyone's life. There was no peace, not even amongst allies, because the hunger took over, that unquenchable and blood searing hunger to survive. The hunger took over, and there was nothing left but a need to devour.   
  
The world as it was known stopped existing.   
  
With each advancement the muggles made, they managed to break the world some more, forever incapable of learning to share the world as they were meant to, never understanding that magic was the sole reason they existed.   
  
For over a century, absolute destruction and incomprehensible mayhem plagued the world, with no cure for the deeply rooted malady that brought the world to its shattered knees.   
  
One hundred and thirty-eight years of war and it is all coming to a painful and deadly end because they found a way to destroy her, the mother of all that walks the earth. They managed to create an abomination that was going to destroy them all and Britain was the first the feel its wrath.   
  
Two hours ago, London was fatally struck, leaving it to bleed out and drive the whole country into decay. No witch, wizard, muggle, or creature that had stayed was left alive. A pungent smell of death and toxins was all that remained of them.   
  
A thick cloud of smoke and dirt covered the ruins of the city, and it was still growing larger, fueled by every last building that was still collapsing and burning.   
  
Among the chaos and rubble, there was a lone surviving tower, atop which a raven-haired man silently appeared out of thin air. He stood completely still while wary and saddened eyes roamed over the debris, deep emerald cloak billowing wildly behind him in the wind. His broad looking shoulders quickly sagged as he took in the destruction that spread out in each direction.   
  
To the raven-haired man's left, another figure appeared. A dark hooded man who stumbled in his step and almost collapsed to his knees, but the raven-haired man was quick to grab him by his shoulder for support.   
  
"Too ma-many souls," the dark cloaked man managed to rasp out. "Too many at once," he said before crying out in unbearable pain.   
  
"This is the end, isn't it?" the raven-haired man asked his longtime companion, voice raw with disuse and his rising distress.   
  
The dark hooded man pushed himself up and tried to ignore the pain and anguish of all the passing souls. "They have chosen,'' he confirmed, not bothered to feign the same surprise his friend was feeling. He had more pressing matters to deal with than his companion’s somewhat delicate sensibilities.   
  
''I didn't think... I honestly thought,'' the raven-haired man mumbled, trying to find words. ''I never imagined they would be so...''   
  
''Ignorant and blind?'' supplied his companion unhelpfully as he curiously peeked at the fiery pits below them.   
  
''Cruel and barbaric,'' he corrected unsteadily as he felt another anguished pulse vibrating up his limbs. These pulses were his mothers dying cries, drenched in her heartache and disappointment. ''How could they do this to her?'' he questioned, desperate to understand how it could all have gone so wrong. ''I can hear her tortured screams. Magic is dying, poisoned by these ungrateful creatures. How dare they!'' he roared into the raging storm.   
  
Fed by his anger, the fires burning around them blazed higher, dancing ferociously to the beat of his broken heart. His green eyes were glinting dangerously bright amidst the encompassing darkness, making the earth beneath them shake violently.   
  
"Calm yourself," snapped the dark hooded man commandingly, warily eyeing the burning buildings surrounding them. "It would do no good for you to exhaust or injure yourself right now."   
  
"Could I have prevented this?'' he asked him in a whisper, his rage quickly extinguished by the fresh wave of guilt that came over him.   
  
"It wasn't your responsibility to prevent this,'' he told him evasively, purposefully looking away from him.   
  
"That's not what I asked you,'' the raven-haired man shot back viciously, momentarily unable to see past the haze of guilt that clouded his mind.   
  
"Nothing is set in stone. Maybe you could have, or perhaps you couldn't. You, beyond anyone else traipsing the mortal world, should know this by now,'' he told him calmly, seemingly unbothered by his friend's temper.   
  
"I swore to myself that I would never meddle with the affairs of humans again,'' the green-eyed man whispered brokenly to himself, trying to block the onslaught of nightmarish memories. "I've tried changing things before and that… well, that didn't work out.''   
  
'No, it didn't,' his dark cloaked companion silently agreed. It had been a complete fiasco that had left his heart and world in shambles. It is also the reason his friend had never time-jumped again, preferring not to meddle with time or the human populous in general.   
  
"I can't do nothing," he heard him mumble, and the dark cloaked man had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes.   
  
Well, the world they are bound to is about to be destroyed. Yes, they are going to have to do something about it. If they didn't, it would be a terrible mess to fix.   
  
"We're going back,'' the raven-haired man stated, voice flat and void of any emotion. "I cannot allow this to be the end. There must be a way to prevent this. You said yourself that nothing is set in stone."   
  
"What are your plans?'' he asked him amusedly, shoving away the tortured screams of the passing souls.   
  
"Save the bloody world, what else?''   
  
Right.   
  
"When exactly would you like to go?'' he asked curiously, still shoving away the tortured screams of the recently deceased.   
  
"I don't know, could you pinpoint a few moments in history where I could have prevented this mess?'' he asked, gesturing towards the currently burning and crumbling building below them.   
  
"I can only guess,'' his companion shrugged, but a plan was already taking shape in his mind.   
  
Some one hundred and sixty-seven years ago his friend played a prank on him, one he didn't find particularly amusing. The end of the world seems to be the perfect opportunity for him to retaliate. He had always known that his patience would one day be handsomely rewarded.   
  
There are about a few hundred possible time periods which they could go to, but there is one specific time period which his friend would preferably not visit. Thinking about it, he would probably want to skip that century altogether. While it might seem a bit harsh of him, in the end, after his friend has sufficiently suffered, he might finally get to have the happiness that he deserves.   
  
During the heartwarming process of his happily ever after, this whole mess they were currently living in could be prevented, and the world and mother Magic saved.   
  
Truly a win-win scenario.   
  
Hopefully, his friend had learned something over their centuries together, enough not to repeat the same mistakes, and everything would work out as it should be. If it didn't, well if he didn't then at least he would have gotten his revenge. Besides, they could always go back again, maybe a bit further this time, far enough to prevent the existence of humans altogether. Magical and non-magical alike.   
  
"Then give it your best guess. Anywhere is going to be better than here,'' the dark cloaked man heard his friend tell him.   
  
"My utmost best,'' he agreed, trying to conceal his glee. Utmost best, indeed.   
  
"See you at the veil,'' was all the green-eyed man said before he vanished into thin air.   
  
A wicked smirk quickly appeared on the dark cloaked man's handsome face.   
  
They were headed into a particularly exciting couple of decades.

* * *

**June 23rd, 1941** ****  
**Ministry of Magic** ****  
**London, England**   
  
Harry Potter stumbled out of the of the other side of the veil, just barely able to keep his face from greeting the floor.   
  
"There was no need to push me,'' he grumbled as he straightened out his black silk shirt and emerald cloak. "Wouldn't have taken so long if you had just told me when you were going to send me to.''   
  
As he said this, Harry looked around the familiar room with a foreboding feeling rising in his chest.   
  
He subtly sniffed the air and frowned.   
  
"Did you sniff the air just now?'' his intimidating companion asked in a flat tone, appearing behind him with his dark hood still in place.   
  
Harry ignored him and stepped off the dais and away from the veil, once again sniffing the air.   
  
It smelled like ashes, dirt, pollution, and death.   
  
It stank like the war they had just come from, only less toxic.   
  
"You took me away from one war zone into another war zone?'' he questioned him with complete incredulity because he couldn't possibly have-   
  
"You never specified that it was a time of peace you wanted to travel to,'' his friend shrugged nonchalantly, successfully hiding his devious glee.   
  
"I would assume that since we were fleeing Doomsday , it was bloody well implied! Tell me we didn't land in the middle of Riddle's uprising,'' he pleaded with him, acidic panic already rising within his chest.   
  
"We didn't,'' he said. But before Harry could take in a relieved breath he continued, "not exactly…'' he trailed off mysteriously.   
  
Harry groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "What's that supposed to mean?'' he questioned, irritated by his friend's antics.   
  
"We are not technically during his uprising in the way that you mean," came another cryptic answer.   
  
Instead of asking his companion to clarify and risk another one of those cryptic answers , he mulled over his words a bit , because no one reaches his ancient age without learning to crack a few riddles.   
  
'Not in the way that you mean', he said, which can only translate to 'another one of Riddle's uprisings that you were not thinking of at the time', but he couldn't possibly...   
  
Death is his friend, his comrade, his best mate forever—literally.   
  
He wouldn't do this to him, not after the last time they came back around this time period.   
  
But there was that prank, what was it? One hundred and fifty-something years ago. He's over it, isn't he? He wouldn't think of getting back at him now. Death didn't hold grudges that long.   
  
As soon as he finished that last thought he blinked and was gone.   
  
The next second, he silently appeared in an ally a few blocks away from the Ministry of Magic.   
  
Harry quickly took in his surroundings and immediately felt like crying.   
  
So maybe Death wasn't over it.   
  
He saw a newspaper flying his way and quickly reached out to snatch it. Flipping it around he noticed that it was a pretty clean copy, must have recently flown out of someone's hands.   
  
He searched the corner for a date and cursed. 23rd June 1941. Bugger.   
  
"This is for that prank I pulled on you some hundred and fifty years ago, isn't it?" he asked his friend morosely as his situation started to sink in.   
  
"Hundred sixty-seven if we are going to throw around numbers,'' smirked his very smug companion. At least it sounded like he was smirking. Wretched hood. Bastard.   
  
"We've been here before, Death. I have already tried this and failed, or do you not recall?" he asked in a dangerously calm tone.   
  
His body was rigid as he tried to contain his absolute rage and fear, but his shining emerald eyes gave him away, unable to hide the multitude of emotions that were rising havoc inside him.   
  
"You're older now. You will not repeat the same mistakes as before," he tried to reassure his friend as much as himself.   
  
"Older does not necessarily mean wiser! Especially not when it comes to him and me," he implored his friend to understand. This couldn't end in anything but disaster.   
  
"He's younger this time," Death tried to convince him, but Harry just shook his head.   
  
"He's fourteen! He's already been through every horror imaginable, and committed atrocities no child his age should be capable of. He's already him," Harry insisted.   
  
"He has yet to spill any blood,'' Death reminded him, but Harry just glared and quickly protested.   
  
"You seem to forget that I value each life, however insignificant to you. Creatures have already bled under his hands. Minds have been tortured, and souls seduced,'' he said, trying to make his friend see what a horrible mistake this is.   
  
"You know that he is not yet the devil you paint him to be," Death persisted, growing increasingly irate with his friend. Why did he have to choose someone so stubborn as a companion?   
  
"Why not send me back to when he was a babe? Why not let me try to raise him to be better? Instead, you chose to torture me."   
  
The air around them chilled as Death tried and failed to contain his irritation. "And what of the balance? He might not have committed his crimes in this time, but his soul is tainted by the heinous act of its defiling. Tearing your soul in such a grotesque manner, such magic isn't reversed and ignored, and you know that. He held no remorse, so he had to suffer. Magic demands balance, however grateful she may be for your intervention."   
  
Fearing an oncoming snowstorm, Harry decided not to argue.   
  
"So, I’m to go to Hogwarts." It wasn't a question. He could try and avoid Hogwarts and Riddle all he liked, Death would find a way to shove them together.   
  
"You think that by saving Riddle, I'll save the world." Again, not a question and he agreed. If Riddle had been slightly less unhinged, he might have led the world into greatness. If Riddle wasn't such a psychopathic, treacherous, genocidal, cheating, megalomaniac… Erm, yes, but he was- is.   
  
"It might be a step in the right direction," Death agreed, sounding more joyous than he had in decades.   
  
"Right,'' Harry sighed and slumped against the wall behind him, unbothered by the dirt and grime that covered every inch of the alley he was hidden in.   
  
"If I have to kill him again, it's over. I want them all gone. Each and every single undeserving human on this earth. We'll wipe it clean and start over."   
  
"Sounds like we have a plan B, my friend,'' he readily agreed, already knowing what their next course of action would have to be.   
  
"I can't allow them to hurt her again, she won't survive,'' Harry muttered sadly, kneeling down to place his hand on the ground.   
  
"So you feel it?'' Death asked him, sounding uncharacteristically concerned and sad.   
  
Harry gave him a curt nod and sighed. "She's still in unbearable pain. Mother will need to recuperate her energy, and it's going to take her a long time. Sending us here in the state she was in took a lot out of her."   
  
"The echo will never leave her, but fear not, she will thrive again," he consoled him as best as he could but refrained from patting his shoulder.   
  
"I am undeserving of being her son. Look what I allowed to happen to her," he mumbled, voice full of self-loathing, dragging his nails across the dirt and clenching them into his fist.   
  
"It is not our place to meddle in the choices of men. Every soul must be tested. We are here now, that is all that matters," Death reminded him gently but firmly.   
  
"Am I not here to meddle in the choices of men?" he asked him sarcastically, misdirected venom dripping from his words.   
  
"Yes, you are," he said naturally, ignoring his friend's acidity. "Because we have clearly seen what leaving them to their own devices will lead to. They will need all the help they can get if we are to decide not to obliterate their species."   
  
Harry chuckled humorlessly. "And I am to start with Riddle? Obviously, the easiest person to turn to our side."   
  
"Indeed, we are going to have to start small, and young Riddle is just the perfect place to start."   
  
Harry decided to not say anything at all and just closed his eyes. This was all a very bad dream. He would soon wake up in his comfortable bed and beautiful view atop a mountain, deep in the African continent.   
  
"Don't fret, young Harry,'' Death encouraged, pinching him and therefore ruining his last shred of hope.   
  
He groaned as he rubbed his upper left arm. "Not dreaming then,'' he said as he opened his eyes again.   
  
"We have two months to get your affairs in order after all."   
  
"Priorities, Death. Priorities," he deadpanned. "I'll go ahead and assume that you won't be so kind as to pick another point in history where I can start stopping the world from being burned to ashes? You know, for instance, any point before Riddle's existence."   
  
Death didn't think that he needed to dignify that with an answer. There was a prank. There were female demons involved, and that is all he would add to that.   
  
"Well if that is settled,'' Harry grumbled sarcastically. "Welcome to the 1940s, Potter," he said, waving his right hand dramatically.   
  
"You're going to have to change your name."   
  
"Will you please not start acting like this is my first trip through time! I'll have you know that I was-"   
  
"-only thirteen when I took my first trip into the past. I know. I was witness to the fiasco that was you helping your godfather escape."   
  
"It was not a fiasco," he cried, vehemently defending his early adventures in the wizarding world.   
  
"It could have gone more smoothly,'' teased Death.   
  
"I was thirteen."   
  
"Closer to fourteen, really."   
  
"You mentioned something about getting my affairs in order?"


	2. Chapter 2

**October 3rd, 1941**

**Hogwarts,**

**Somewhere behind heavy wards in Scotland**

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle understood the concept of distractions, even if he himself had never before suffered from such nugatory disturbances.

His purpose and aspirations always stood unrelenting in the very forefront of his mind, and there had been nothing in existence that could deter him from his endeavours, and for such he had been admired and praised by everyone that knew him. In the magical world at least.  

Nothing could ever distract him, and yet here he found himself again, with bright emerald green breaking through all of his mental shields.

The colour invaded his clear mind and muddled it with resentment and a newly acquired ability he thought himself incapable of.  

Of course, Tom understood the burning sensation of desire, knew intimately the torrid pulses that seared the body in desperate need. He wasn't above desire, and he desired numerous things, like power, control, immortality, and respect. He craved to achieve greatness, be the most talented, most recognized. He sought his name to be known among all men, women, children, and creatures, but never before had he desired another witch or wizard.

He'd desired to control them for his own means, undoubtedly, but he had never lusted for anyone based on their attraction and appeal alone.

Such a thing was incomprehensible to him.  

Yes, he understood what society as a general whole categorized as beautiful and attractive. He, himself could admit that he found certain features more attractive than others, but it had never provoked more than natural arousal and a need to satisfy himself.

He had experienced sexual pleasure and the obvious calming release that ensued. Just as any other boy his age, he was undergoing the process of puberty, however trivial he found it.

But sexual pleasure was not what truly satisfied him and got his blood boiling. What did was to gain whatever he coveted, be it connections, special artefacts, knowledge, or simply the control and complete submission from a follower.

He understood how a 'normal' person would react to a person they find attractive, he had, after all, more than enough experience with how people reacted to him. They looked at him with such obscene hunger, hardly able to curb their need to catch his attention at every turn.

Throughout the years he had observed and used people's desires against them. He'd never completely understood their lust for him, the need to belong to someone, but he accepted it and found out that it was yet another weapon to use in his favour, another way to control.

He had long since accepted that he wasn’t normal, that he was different—better, unchained by such fruitless emotions such as lust and infatuation. He didn't want to be like everyone else—average. Average people do not achieve the greatness he desired. 

Even so, for the past month, his blood had been boiling, and his stomach clenching and twisting in uncomfortable knots at even the slightest thought of emerald green and raven black.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had been degraded to an accelerated heart rate, vein pulsating in his neck with rushing blood, like some… some… pubescent girl.  

He could almost taste the adrenalin as it urged him to do something, anything to quell this intolerable and salacious hunger.

He now understood perfectly and preferred he didn't.

He had been right, it was a weakness, but he wasn't going to let it control him.

That was why he hadn't stopped Abraxas Malfoy and Caius Avery when they had hinted that they were going out to find their newest classmate and teach him a lesson on the Slytherin hierarchy, which he seemed so disinclined to accept and follow.  

The raven-haired new student seemed to be quiet and very reserved. He tried his best to stay out of everyone's way, preferring solitude to the company of others and quite unwilling to socialize with his peers for even a moment. In fact, the only people Tom had seen him speak with at length were the seventh-year Slytherin Prefect, Alphard Black, and his cousin Orion.

Tom had to admit that he admired the cunning and aesthetic way the boy had managed to rebuff the attention he had gotten in the first few days of his arrival, when it was first revealed that he was heir to house Peverell. He had done it so perfectly that until that morning he had been forgotten by most, just not by Tom.  

He didn’t personally share any classes with the boy, with him being a fourth-year and Peverell being a seventh-year student, but he was told that he didn't speak in class unless called upon and seemed to be averagely powerful. Nothing that would draw anyone's attention and very easily forgotten.

So why hadn't Tom forgotten about him?

His beauty and Lordship status that had initially garnered their peers’ attention held no real value to him, so why was he bothered by the fact that no one managed to get more information on the mysterious new seventh-year student?

Hadrian James Peverell, Lord of his house as proven by the signet ring that he wore, was previously homeschooled by his traveller parents. Because he’d been recently orphaned due to the war raging outside of Hogwarts, he'd decided to attend Hogwarts as per his parents' last request - for him to properly finish his education and further his chances at an apprenticeship within the castle. That was all anyone knew about the boy.    

Hadrian Peverell spent most of his time in the library and was rarely ever seen at any of the meals, and it was an even rarer sight to catch him in the common room.

Because of the gap in their ages, he wasn't privy to Peverell's sleeping patterns, but from what he had been told, his curtains were always drawn and when they weren't, he wouldn't get back before they'd all slept and would be out before anyone woke up.   

Because of this, one could understand why, when said new Slytherin classmate was seen walking and laughing in the corridors between classes with seventh-year Gryffindor Golden Boy Fleamont Potter, the consensus was shock, indignation, disapproval, rage, and lastly, revolt.

The house of Slytherin was not going to stand for such an insult.

Tom had said nothing when he had seen the effortless camaraderie they seemed to share. He hadn't allowed his feet to stop moving and he hadn't allowed his hand to tremble. He hadn't allowed himself to show the rage he felt at the nauseating scene he had had the misfortune to witness.  

He hadn't uttered a word about it, unlike the rest of the Hogwarts population and had tried, in vain, to push the situation out of his mind. He would not succumb to this weakness.   

For the rest of the day, he hid behind his perfected mask of cool indifference and ignored a situation he would usually have a hand in rectifying. Why? Because he couldn't allow himself to speak, lest his jealousy manages to take control of his actions and sways him to act upon this urge to dispose of both men. He could imagine how beautiful it would be to watch the life drain out of Potter's eyes before he collapsed limply in his own pool of blood. Yes, the satisfaction would taste all too sweet, topped only by Peverell's own demise.   

Tom shook himself out of these fantasies and shot a quick glance at the clock hanging atop the fireplace, noticing that it had already been over an hour since Malfoy and Avery had taken their leave from the common room. Another ten minutes and they would miss curfew.

No one had left to their rooms yet. Everyone was still about, waiting for Malfoy and Avery's return so they would find out the damage that had been inflicted and wanting to collect on their bets. Maybe even vindictively waiting to catch a glimpse of the victim.   

How long would he be unconscious for? Two days or maybe a month? Had they severed a limb?  

No one doubted that retribution would be dealt, not even himself.

No one cared for Peverell's wellbeing, so why was he so anxious? What was this uncomfortable aching pang in his heart when he thought of Peverell being hurt? Had he not just fantasized about taking the boy's life himself?

This was all too foreign to him. He didn't understand. It was unclear, and things had always been clear to him. He didn't like this new development, and he wouldn’t tolerate it. He would get himself under control. Things would be clear again. Hadrian Peverell was no one, and this beating he was being served would extinguish any appeal Tom had towards him. He was sure of it, because he hated weak and pathetic people and that is what Abraxas and Caius would render him to.   

Excited chattering, giggling, and mocking laughter was quickly stolen by the ear-shattering bang of the entrance door slamming open.  

Each and every head in the common room turned towards the entrance and watched the imposing figure of Hadrian Peverell emerge from the shadows of the alcoves with two beaten and bloodied bodies levitating behind him.  

The silence that followed was out-measured only by the suffocating presence of Hadrian Peverell's magic. It was wild and uncontained, lashing out and filling the room.  

Power. So much raw power. How had he managed to conceal this amount of magic?  

As soon as he’d felt it, it was gone.

No one uttered a single word, and it was as if everyone had simultaneously stopped breathing, including Tom. No one moved when Peverell dropped the rope-bound bodies to the ground, this incomprehensible situation seemingly having rendered the whole of Slytherin house immobile.

Tom marvelled at the complete nonchalance in which he disposed of the two bodies, and once again his stomach knotted and the skin at the back of his neck felt fevered. Had he not been distracted by the sudden surge of arousal, he would have noticed that there was no wand in sight.  

Peverell's face was impassive as he let his eyes trail over the whole room, completely unscathed from the duel that must have taken place just a few minutes before.

''I'm not quite sure if you all understand the meaning of this display,'' he started with a deep, velvety voice that carried dangerously over the ringing silence, gesturing towards the unmoving bodies. Tom was unable to suppress his shiver at the darkness that caressed him.  

''But as I would like to not have to resort to these measures again, I shall indulge you with an explanation,'' he continued, inspecting his nails in an act of easy indifference. It was as amusing as it was insulting, but Tom managed to bite back his smirk.  

''These two fools,'' Peverell sighed exasperatedly, ''bound at my feet, had the audacity to believe they were allowed to dictate who I am to spend my time with. Furthermore, they tried to hurt an acquaintance of mine. Not to worry,'' he smiled wickedly, making some of the younger students whimper, “they quickly learned the consequences of such uncouth actions. Rest assured that the next time anyone presumes they are able to control me or tries to hurt anyone I decide to associate with, they will not be dealt with as generously, and such people should be wary of my retaliation.''

Once he was sure his threat had set in, Peverell's eyes snapped towards Tom. His expression was still stoic and impassive, but his eyes had narrowed slightly, flashing in a warning that, no, he was not exempt from this threat.

Rage struck his every nerve, clashing wildly with lust for this boy who dared challenge him.

Peverell suddenly took three steps in his direction and came to a stop just two feet away from his sitting position in his armchair. He tilted his head to the side, hair falling into his eyes as he assessed him.

Tom cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at him but dared to do no more, curious to hear what the boy had to say to him.    

''Now, we wouldn't want our house's reputation to suffer because of a couple of imbeciles, so I shan't speak with Slughorn, just this once. Please do try and keep a tighter hold on that leash of yours,'' was all he said before he turned around and left, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it was now well past curfew.  

Once the portrait hole shut behind Peverell, Tom turned to the two bound fools still lying helplessly on the floor.  

''I want to speak with the sixth-year boys in their dorm room immediately.'' He didn't have to raise his voice; it carried through the room in dangerous waves filled with the promise of punishment, should anyone refuse his orders. He stood and made his way to the stairs, leaving his other associates to deal with the bound boys.  

His mind was reeling. How was this possible? How had he managed to best Malfoy and Avery?  

Peverell hadn't shown any spectacular abilities in class, his work mediocre at best. He shouldn’t have been able to hold a candle against Avery, yet the dark, enraged power that had been pulsating and radiating around Peverell had been real. The promise to hurt had been real, as was the deep seething malice that had taken his breath away.   

The door swung open and Nott walked in, his shoulder loaned to Malfoy, whilst Lestrange and Rosier had to carry Avery's trembling body inside.  

Avery was shaking uncontrollably, and his face was devoid of any colour besides the fresh blood that was running down his cheeks from the open wound in his head. His hair was matted to his tear and sweat slickened face, and his eyes were shut in pain. He was a complete mess and unable to use any of his limbs, whimpering and groaning with each step he took.    

From the state Avery was in, Tom gathered that he hadn't been the only one to throw around a few dark curses.

Lestrange and Rosier looked at him for permission to set him down, which he gave.  

Once they placed Avery onto the bed, they all turned to him, waiting for him to speak.  

Tom’s eyes snapped to Abraxas, whose face was lowered in shame and fear, but his body was locked, presumably because of the shock he was going through.  

He was in much better shape than Avery, but still had a red streak of blood tainting his dishevelled platinum blond hair, and his robes were torn in several places.

''Explain to me how Hadrian Peverell managed to get the best of you,'' he requested calmly, but the threat in his voice was obvious.

''We f-found him with P-Potter, b-but P-Peverell, it was Peverell. Fleamont didn't have to l-lift a finger,'' Abraxas stuttered, clenching his jaw whilst shaking his head. His hands were clenched at his side, trying unsuccessfully to keep them from trembling. His face was hidden away by his long blond hair, an indication that he had lost control over his emotions and was unable to reign in his obvious terror. ''I-I'm not s-sure...'' he trailed of shuddering, unable to finish his thought.  

What had Hadrian Peverell done to them exactly?

''What do you mean, you're unsure? Were you not conscious when he attacked you and Avery?'' Tom hissed at him.

''I was,'' he whispered in a way that spoke loudly of how he wished he hadn't been. ''I don't understand. It's impossible,'' he mumbled, locking his stormy blue eyes with Tom's grey ones for the first time since his arrival.  

What Tom saw had him almost stumbling back. Abraxas was terrified, completely panic-stricken and frantic, flighty. He wanted to escape. Not Tom, but the memories of Hadrian Peverell.  

''They were disarmed,'' he continued, voice pitched with hysterical incredulity.

This caught their attention; everyone's heads snapping to Abraxas, and Avery released a whimper from his bed.  

''Do you mean to insinuate that Hadrian Peverell bested you both wandlessly?'' Impossible. Wandless casting was nearly impossible to master, almost unheard of. Wizards and witches needed their wands for a reason—that reason being the need to focus and channel their magic. One didn’t just go around performing complex wandless magic.

Of course, Tom was able to cast a select few spells wandlessly, but not any dark spells like the kind that seem to have been inflicted on his housemates.

''See for yourself,'' Abraxas offered, his eyes never leaving him. ''Because I have no words,'' he confessed, completely disturbed by what he had been witness to that night.  

Tom took the invitation and without a second thought invaded his mind. Abraxas’s mental walls were down and the memory he wanted was offered freely for his viewing.  

 

_ Abraxas and Avery rounded the corner of an abandoned hallway close to the library when they had finally found the subject of their ire leaning against the wall, smiling gently at the Gryffindor boy who seemed to be rambling and gesturing wildly with his hands, presumably talking about Quidditch. _

_ ''Peverell, so glad we've run into you,'' Avery called out to them, instantly halting their conversation. _

_ Potter spun around, glare instantly falling onto his face, whilst Peverell just tilted his head to the side. The smile was gone from his face but there was no outwardly sign of hostility, just slight irritation at being interrupted.   _

_ ''Malfoy, Avery,'' he acknowledged but didn't move from his position, whilst Potter already had his wand in his hand, ready for the attack.   _

_ ''We would like to have a few words with you, Peverell,'' Abraxas requested, and the command didn't go unheard.   _

_ ''That so,'' Peverell commented bemused. ''Why don't you go on and head to your tower, Fleamont, I'll speak to you tomorrow,'' he told Potter without moving his eyes away from the two Slytherins in front of him.   _

_ ''I think I'll stay a while,'' Potter told him resolutely, probably knowing what they had planned for their housemate.   _

_ ''You better listen to him, Potter,'' Avery spat, taking another step forward. ''You don't want to find yourself in an uncomfortable situation,'' he warned but, obviously, the Gryffindor wasn't about to move and leave his friend behind to be attacked. He was a Gryffindor and therefore had no sense of self-preservation.      _

_ ''How about you watch yourself, Avery. I may not be Head Boy, but I am still a prefect,'' Potter threatened, causing both Malfoy and Avery to chuckle.   _

_ ''Gentlemen,'' Peverell intervened. ''Must there be such hostility in the air?'' he questioned, wrinkling his nose as if disgusted with the display.   _

_ ''You seem to need a reminder of your place, Peverell,'' Abraxas said, none too pleased with Peverell’s nonchalant behaviour. _

_ ''And you wish to be the one to remind me, Malfoy?'' Peverell asked him with a raised brow.   _

_ ''Your insolence will be punished,'' Avery promised, smiling cruelly at Peverell, but the boy wasn't shaken.   _

_ ''My insolence? What have I done to offend your delicate sensibilities?'' Peverell asked with a tone of genuine curiosity, which Tom knew to be completely ingenuine. Potter chuckled lightly, drawing Avery's attention once again back to him.   _

_ ''Slytherins do not associate with Gryffindors, especially not when they don't have the common courtesy to associate with their own house,'' Abraxas told Peverell airily. ''What have we done to offend you so that you would shun us so publicly?'' he asked, and Tom could feel the genuine curiosity behind his question. It had been running through everyone's mind for the whole day, so he couldn't be blamed for asking.   _

_ ''I see,'' Peverell mumbled, licking his lower lip. ''So, you wish to decide with whom I keep company based on the sole reason that I was sorted into Slytherin house. I also seem to have overstepped some form of boundaries that the Slytherin hierarchy has set up, and because I have overstepped said boundaries, by associating with a blood traitor, you now wish to teach me a lesson in the name of Slytherin house for my ghastly betrayal. You wish to assert dominance over me and show me that I am at the very bottom of this hierarchy, meaning that my freedom is yours to do with as you please; this based on the account of my unknown blood-status, and presumably powerless state, as opposed to the obvious superiority of outstanding pure-bloods such as yourselves. Have I left anything out?''     _

_ His question was left unanswered as hexes and curses started flying.   _

_ Peverell didn't attack, just shielded and dodged the spells effortlessly, and Potter was holding his own until Abraxas managed to finally disarm him. _

_ Avery took the opportunity and sent a bone-breaker at Potter, which Peverell managed to shield him from at the last second, but the distraction was enough to allow Avery to disarm Peverell, wand flying towards him and caught with acute reflexes.   _

_ The duel should have been over; Malfoy and Avery had won. They now had the upper hand, but it was only Potter that looked marginally nervous at having no wand to defend himself with.   _

_ ''I guess pretty words are all you're worth, Peverell,'' Avery mocked as he twirled the newly won wand in his hand.   _

_ Peverell nodded, but neither noticed the small smirk that twitched at the edges of his lips. ''That's right Avery. Now give Potter back his wand and let him leave. It is, after all, I that has slighted you,'' Peverell tried to bargain.   _

_ ''I don't think so, Peverell. Potter needs to be taught a lesson of his own,'' Abraxas mentioned lightly. ''Don't you think so, Avery? It seems like too good an opportunity to miss.'' _

_ Had they been paying attention to Peverell they would have noticed the fire that flashed in his eyes. They would have noticed his subdued back straightening and his jaw setting in determination. _

_ He had allowed his housemates their fun, but threatening his friend seemed to have crossed some line for Peverell.    _

_ ''I wouldn't do that if I were you, Avery,'' Peverell warned, all pretences dropping. His voice gained a dangerous edge to it and his eyes flashed brightly in warning. _

_ ''Have you forgotten that you're wandless, Peverell?'' Avery reminded him, face contorted in fury when he noticed that the boy wasn't cowering in fear and submission.   _

_ ''Last warning,'' Peverell threatened, garnering an incredulous look even from Potter.    _

_ Without warning, Avery aimed a Crucio towards Potter, but once again Peverell saved him, and Tom had to wonder if the boy had been sorted into the correct house. _

_ Peverell stepped in front of the torture curse for Potter and Tom could feel Abraxas's incredulity mixing with his own. Why on earth would anyone step in front of such a curse for anyone, let alone a boy whom you've known for less than a month?    _

_ Incredulity made way for shock and sheer amazement at the fact that the man under the torture curse had yet to release a single scream. His body was convulsing with the agony that he was under, but his eyes held strong as steel as he fell to one knee under the pressure of absolute pain.  _

_ Abraxas turned to a now wide-eyed Avery, whose grip on his wand had slackened in shock. Avery gasped, and his jaw dropped. The reaction urged Abraxas to turn his head back to Peverell, and he too lost his composure, eyes wide open and jaw firmly unhinged.   _

_ Horror, that was the only emotion cursing through Abraxas as he watched Peverell stand up whilst still under the Cruciatus.   _

_ Tom watched fascinated as the raven-haired man flicked his wrist and disarmed them both at once, all four wands flying to the other end of the corridor and out of reach.   _

_ The next second Peverell had Abraxas thrown into the wall with a sickening crunch and as soon as his fallen body touched the ground, it was bound in tight black ropes. Horror increased to panicked terror at being bound and helpless against the man whose magic was suffocating him. _

_ Tom felt the memory of the darkness that had wrapped around Abraxas like a blanket, and it took all his self-control not to moan aloud.   _

_ ''Leave, Potter,'' Peverell commanded, his attention focused solely on Avery, who was now kneeling at his feet, unable to move. When a few seconds of silence went by Peverell forcefully ordered again. ''Now, Potter! Not a word about this to anyone,'' he warned without sparing him a glance. _

_ ''R-right. Okay,'' Potter stuttered, looking at him with awe-filled eyes. ''Not a word,'' he promised, and with one last glance at the man that had just saved him, he scurried off.   _

_ Once Potter was out of sight Peverell lifted his hand, and with it Avery rose into the air, his eyes widening in fear when he started choking and gasping for breath, struggling against the invisible force that held him in place.   _

_ ''Don't worry,'' Peverell said soothingly. ''You're allowed to scream. No one will hear you,'' he promised sadistically.   _

_ Then the screaming started, agonized screams telling of pain and a wish to die. Tom watched as Avery convulsed, his body snapping in all odd directions as Peverell held him up in mid-air. _

_ Tears started streaming down his face, and his lungs were starting to give out, choked sobs mixing into the screams.   _

_ Tom could feel Abraxas's need to look away from the scene, but he found himself unable to move his head or even close his eyes. So he was helplessly stuck watching his friend getting tortured with just a few gestures and clenching of Peverell's fingers. _

_ Peverell held whatever spell he had cast for over a minute before Avery found himself slammed down to the ground, surely breaking a few of his ribs, before he bound him with the same ropes Abraxas was bound in, struck immobile and soundless.   _

_ ''I warned you,'' he told them. ''I shall go ahead and assume that you now know better than to try another attack on my person, or on any other one of my acquaintances,'' he told them drolly, completely unaffected by what he had just done to his housemates.   _

 

Having seen enough, Tom retreated from Abraxas's mind. Abraxas was the first to look away, staggering against Nott who had gone to his side when he started shaking mid-memory.  

Tom had no words for what he had just seen because it was impossible. He could now understand Abraxas's stuttering and inability to explain what happened. He could now understand his terror and panic. They had gone to teach the boy a lesson and, instead, they had found a master that dealt them enlightenment they wouldn't soon forget.   

The show of uninhibited power and complete control had been both glorious and alarming.

His eyes had flashed so viciously it had Tom almost gasping for air as he ached with need.  

His defiance under torture had been alluring, sending a rush of heated shivers down his spine before turning his blood to ice.   

His sadistic retribution had been delicious and terrifying.  

Who is this boy that wielded so much power that rivalled and surpassed his own? How had no one noticed this before? How had he not noticed such a threat?  

Why would he hide such talent and prowess, seemingly uninterested in politics? What cards exactly was he holding up his sleeves?   

He stood corrected. Hadrian's sorting had by no means been a mistake. No, Hadrian Peverell seemed to be the embodiment of Slytherin qualities.    

Harry Peverell was perfection, and Tom wanted him. He wanted his loyalty, devotion, and protection as Potter seemed to have it. Wanted to own his mind and learn each one of his dark secrets. Wanted him begging on his knees, vying for his attention, unable to live without him.  

He couldn't oppose such power, and he didn't want to.  

Peverell may have been powerful, but he was ruled by his emotions just like everyone else. He had seen it when Avery started threatening Potter; gone had been the cool indifference, replaced by immeasurable fury.  

Hadrian Peverell could be controlled, and Tom would take immense pleasure in breaking him and making him his.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank my beta KingOMalley for all the edits done to deliver the best possible version of this chapter to the readers! I honestly doubt that I would have been able to attract as many readers without your help. 
> 
> I would also like to thank all the readers that took an interest in my story, and an extra special thanks to those that took the time to leave a comment. I'm glad that you're finding the plot somewhat original ^_^ I'm going to try my best to keep you on your toes.


	3. Chapter 3

**October 4th, 1941** **  
** ****

**DADA Classroom,**

**Hogwarts**   
  
Over the following night, something changed within the Slytherin house, and every soul residing in the castle noticed. Not one pupil wearing green and silver murmured a single word of what happened the night before, and Potter seemed to have kept his mouth shut as promised because everyone else was kept guessing as to why on earth all of the Slytherins were acting so subdued.   
  
Not that Tom blamed them; he was still quite confused at the turn of events himself.   
  
The Slytherin fourth-years were currently sharing Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors, and Tom was cursing the fact that he was three years Peverell's junior and unable to share classes with him.   
  
They didn’t share any classes, but for the first time in days Peverell had actually shown up to breakfast, sitting and chatting amiably with Orion and Alphard Black, who didn't seem averse to the attention they were receiving from their new housemate.   
  
That morning Tom allowed himself to stare inconspicuously at the boy, taking in every detail he was offered. For the first time since the second day of term, he allowed himself to really look at the raven-haired boy that was able to send his heart racing.   
  
Peverell was by no means a short man, about six feet if he had to hazard a guess. His stature looked lean, muscular and athletic, goading Tom to have one too many dreams wondering about what Peverell had concealed beneath those expensive school robes he wore.   
  
His long raven hair, as always, was pulled back elegantly away from his face with a velvety, dark emerald ribbon, but his fringe was left to carelessly cover his eyes.   
  
One could speculate all they wanted about his blood-status, but his chiselled features spoke loudly and obviously of pureblood ancestry. Peverell had the sharp Black cheekbones which accentuated his hallowed cheeks handsomely, and a Potter nose which he wore delicately. Striking pureblood features were complimented perfectly by his strong jaw and the bright emerald jewels that shaped his eyes.   
  
Tom had never seen such eyes before, so unbelievably green and vibrant that they called to you from the other side of the room; old eyes that told of unimaginable tales and insufferable grief, ones that didn't belong upon the angelic face of the seventeen-year-old.   
  
What could he possibly have been through? What suffering had led him here?   
  
Hadrian Peverell had gone from an insignificant new Slytherin student to the most mysterious enigma he had ever had the pleasure of encountering.   
  
How could they have all been so blind as not see what was hiding in front of their very own eyes?   
  
Why was Peverell hiding in the shadows when he had, it seemed, immeasurable power at his disposal to wield with the very tips of his fingers?   
  
Tom, immersed as he was in his musing, didn't notice that class had let out and that students were now rushing out, excited that classes were done for the day.   
  
Lestrange tapped him on his shoulder to get his attention and Tom snapped his head in his direction.   
  
''Coming?'' he asked wearily.   
  
Tom just gave a curt nod and started gathering his things from the table.   
  
''Are we to meet with Abraxas?'' Tom asked no one in particular.   
  
''I don't think so. If I were to take a guess, I'd say he's off looking for Peverell,'' Lestrange drawled lazily with a smirk in place.   
  
Dolohov snorted at this, drawing Tom's attention. He chuckled and Tom arch a brow at him in question. ''Abraxas has been mooning over Peverell since his arrival,'' he explained rolling his eyes.   
  
''He has?'' Tom asked indifferently, but his gut was suddenly twisting and burning.   
  
Dolohov and Lestrange turned to look at him with identical disbelieving expressions.   
  
''Peverell is all Abraxas has been talking about since the start of term,'' Lestrange blinked, not quite understanding how Tom had managed to miss that piece of information. 

It probably had to do with the fact that he had been trying to block out anything and everything that was remotely related to Hadrian Peverell.

''I hadn't noticed,'' Tom murmured distractedly, trying to put out the fire that ignited inside him at the news.   
  
''He's interested, but I didn't think he'd actually try and pursue him, especially not after last night,'' commented Lestrange.   
  
''I'd rather think that he would try  _ because _ of last night,'' Dolohov chuckled darkly.   
  
''He was terrified, or have you forgotten the state he was in last night or the fact that Avery is still lying in bed shaking?'' Lestrange rebuffed, not seeing what Dolohov could possibly be insinuating.   
  
''Think about it for a second, Gustus. Objectively speaking, Peverell is quite handsome as we've repeatedly been reminded over the past month. Add the fact that he seems more than decently powerful to the package, with the added bonus of being a Peverell, and you have Abraxas's wet dream come to life,'' Dolohov explained as if it were obvious. ''Yes, now that Abraxas knows that Peverell isn't some mediocre wizard, he'd definitely want to try.''   
  
''So, you think Abraxas will try to start up a relationship with Peverell?'' Tom asked them calmly, tone as uninterested as he could manage to make it sound with the sudden wave of possessiveness that immersed him in indignant rage.   
  
''I'd say he's begging on his knees right about now,'' Dolohov smirked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively, unintentionally fueling Tom's rage.   
  
Tom clenched his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose, trying to keep his poised mask in place.   
  
Lestrange shrugged. "It seems that if anyone has a chance of bagging Peverell, it's one of the Blacks. They seemed rather cosy this morning."   
  
"Orion is already in a marriage contract with Walburga," Cygnus reminded them indignantly, finally pulling his nose out of his book to join their conversation.   
  
Dolohov smirked lecherously at his year mate and swung an arm over his shoulder. "Doesn't mean that he can't enjoy him before or even after."   
  
"Orion would never betray my sister and our family name in such a way," Cygnus defended his cousin vehemently.   
  
Not in the mood to deal with their bantering, Tom abruptly stopped walking. ''I need to head to the library. I'll meet you in the common room later,'' and without another word, he turned around and left them to their gossiping.   
  
Peverell would not be his weakness—he couldn't allow it—but at the same time the thought of Abraxas' hands running over the skin he desperately wanted to touch made him burn and turned his vision green with envy.   
  
The thought of Orion or Alphard fucking Black getting to him first was even worse.   
  
While Cygnus quite readily obeyed his every word and complied with his rule over Slytherin house, the other Blacks didn't feel inclined to do the same, not even the wench Lucretia who never seemed to have forgotten about his blood-status. They might not defy him outright, moderately respectful of his prowess, but resistance burned brightly in their eyes. "Blacks do not bow to anyone," he had once heard Alphard whisper to him warningly, out of ear-shot from their other housemates.   
  
He had wanted to shred him to pieces where he stood for his audacity, but unfortunately, his name protected him, but only for so long.   
  
No, Alphard Black and his cousins would not be touching Peverell, he would make sure of it.   
  
As he walked into the library, his eyes were immediately drawn to a raven-haired head, sitting next to an equally dark-haired Orion.   
  
Before he could make up his mind, his feet were already carrying him to the table slightly to their right, curious to find out what they were discussing.   
  
Quickly he got out his assignments and relevant notes, pretending not to be eavesdropping on the pair next to him.   
  
"... forget to send my father an owl this week. He's been eagerly and somewhat impatiently waiting for your reply."   
  
Peverell was acquainted with Arcturus Black?   
  
"I apologise for leaving him waiting, but I needed to conduct some research before I was able to get back to him with an adequate reply. Didn't want to disappoint him," Peverell said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.   
  
"Not possible," Black deadpanned, probably rolling his eyes. "Since he met you at the Ministry this summer you're all he's been talking about. Even mother was a little jealous of the attention he was showing you, though her jealousy quelled when he mentioned a contract between you and Lucretia."   
  
"It took me a week to think about a nice way to tell him that it was likely not going to happen," Peverell said, sounding pained at the memory of it.   
  
"He was unusually quiet that evening, giving Lucretia these heartbroken looks. I honestly thought he was going to cry," Black laughed loudly, earning him a glare from the elderly librarian.   
  
"Tell me honestly though," suddenly Black's tone had lost all its amusement. "You don't strike me as the kind of man that wants to get into politics, Harry. Why do it? Don't misunderstand!" he hastened to exclaim, eyes wide at his silent implication and Peverell's raised brow.   
  
"I believe that you are more than capable of accomplishing what you set your mind to," he was quick to reassure, probably having last night's events playing in front of his eyes.   
  
Tom did his best to overlook the fact that Orion fucking Black was allowed to refer to Peverell in such a familiar way, and managed because of a new fact that has just been revealed to him.   
  
Peverell was interested in politics. Surely impossible, not with his antisocial nature.   
  
Peverell stayed silent for a few seconds, looking closely at his friend with a sad smile on his lips.   
  
"We live in the same world, Orion. A world ruled by discrimination and hatred. Surely you see that we need to change?" he asked him rhetorically with hardening eyes. "I see where the world is headed, and I fear the arrival of our complete annihilation," he said with terrifying conviction, and then he hesitated for a moment, staring through Orion and into a terrible future only he seemed able to see.   
  
"So I'll do it," he continued with more confidence than before. "I'll do it because no one else will do it simply for the sake of our community. I'll do it because I'm probably the only person that wishes to do it for nothing else but to achieve peace and prosperity. I'll do it because to waste my resources would be to be selfish and undeserving of my title. I'll do it because if I don't, who will?"   
  
How nauseatingly egotistical and noble of him.   
  
So Hadrian Peverell wanted to change the wizarding world? He would need to get in line or fight him for the privilege.   
  
"I don't know if that made you sound conceited or Gryfindorishly noble."   
  
"I know you mean that in the nicest ways possible, Orion dear," Peverell joked.   
  
"Are you sure you don't want to marry my sister? If you did father would probably name you as heir, and you'll have all the influence that comes with the Black name."   
  
"I don't need to marry into the family because I already have your father's support and that's all the Black influence I need."   
  
Orion groaned, barely restraining himself from dropping his head onto the table. "Do you ever," he mumbled grumpily under his breath. "Orion my boy," he started, in what Tom Riddle assumed was a bad impression of his father. "You stick with Harry, Orion, I tell you. You stick with him, and it will be the best decision you will ever make. Could learn a lot of things from him, going places he is. You stick with him, and we'll see the Black name restored to its former glory!"   
  
Orion had always been one for theatrics. Tom could only thank whatever deity resided at the very top that he wasn't in the same year as him because sharing a dorm would have been a horror.   
  
To his surprise, Hadrian Peverell didn't seem to find the younger boy annoying, not if that beautiful laugh ringing in his ear was anything to go by.   
  
How could a man such as him be amused by Orion Black? He was as dull as a first year's Lumos, barely tolerated by his own house. Orion, if not for the lordship he was to inherit, would be a nobody, yet Peverell enjoyed his company.   
  
"We will, you know," Peverell told him, his tone once again turning grave.   
  
"We will do what?" Orion asked him, taken aback by his friend's sudden mood shift.   
  
"Restore your house to its former glory, what else?" he said, smiling wildly at the younger boy.   
  
Orion tilted his head to the side, giving him a curious and confused look. Tom was confused himself. Why was Peverell so interested in the Blacks?   
  
"I just don't understand you, Peverell," Orion told him shyly, his cheeks tinting slightly with the tiniest hint of a blush.   
  
"Don't break your head over it. Most of the time I don't understand myself," he smirked, sending his friend a wink.   
  
Before he could continue listening in into their conversation he heard Malfoy call his name from behind him, it took all his control not to let slip how startled he was. How had he not noticed him approaching?   
  
"How was your day?" the blond-haired boy asked him, giving him a small smile before taking the available seat next to him, looking none the worse for wear, considering last night's…duel, if one could call it that.   
  
As Malfoy settled himself next to him, the conversation he had with his year mates after class immediately slid into his mind. Now that Tom was paying attention to Abraxas he could easily tell that he was visibly restraining himself from looking over to where Peverell was sitting with Black.   
  
So Lestrange and Dolohov had been right. How unfortunate.   
  
Malfoy was a valuable ally to have. Tom couldn't very well handle him as he really wished to, preferably over a cliff. No, he would have to tread carefully but make it abundantly clear that Peverell was off-limits.   
  
All he had to do was figure out a way to do that without revealing his unusual… desires towards the seventh-year. He would never allow anyone to know that he had such a weakness.   
  
"Uneventful," he finally replied, going back to his Charms essay.   
  
From the corner of his eyes, he glanced at the duo that had been sitting next to them and to his dismay noticed that they were packing to leave.   
  
As they retreated he waited to see if Peverell would spare him a glace, even a quick flicker, but none came as he walked out, completely ignoring him as though he didn't even exist. No one ignored him. Soon enough Peverell would be no less ensnared by him than the rest of Hogwarts.   
  
"I thought you would like to know that Avery finally managed to get up this afternoon. Nott went to check on him," Abraxas explained when he was able to tear his own eyes away from the retreating duo.   
  
Tom raised a delicate eyebrow, surprised. With the state he was in last night he figured that he would need another couple of days to recover.   
  
"Is that so," he murmured gently. "Is he fit enough to discuss last night's events?" he asked him, hardly caring if Avery was indeed fit, or rather, sane enough to do so.   
  
Abraxas shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "He wasn't exactly in a sociable mood, but I am sure that he would make an exception for you," he quickly reassured when Tom narrowed his eyes at him.   
  
"We leave now," he all but ordered, gathering his things.   
  
Abraxas blinked and looked at the empty parchment and Runes book he had just gotten out of his bag, and back at Tom, who was now impatiently waiting for him.   
  
"Of course," he nodded and swiftly got his things before Tom vocalised his irritation. Nothing good ever happened when he did.   
  
His Runes essay would have to wait until after dinner.

 

 

* * *

 

"Do you really think that ignoring him is the best course of action?"

Harry was sitting on the roof of the astronomy tower, enjoying a clear night sky and the delightful company of his immortal friend.   
  
"I'm not discussing this with you again," he sighed, not bothering to look away from what captivated his eyes.   
  
"Yes, you repeatedly mention a plan. A plan which you've decided not to share with me. But I am starting to believe that Tom Riddle has no part in this plan. I think you're going to try and avoid him for long as you can," Death said, not bothering to hide his disapproval. This wasn't how things were meant to go.   
  
Harry turned and gave his friend a menacing grin, making his friend's left eye twitch behind his dark hood.   
  
"Tom Riddle is very much part of the plan," he reassured him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "By the time I am done with him this time around, he won't dream of so much as looking at another witch or wizard. If he does? I'll exterminate him," he said frankly, his frightening smirk growing even larger, and at that moment he looked very much the insane wizard that he was.   
  
For some reason, Death thought that his friend was hoping for the latter result.   
  
"Here I was thinking that Alphard Black caught your attention," he mocked dryly. Harry's cheeks gained a hint of a blush as he looked away from his friend, deciding that it was better not to comment, which only led to Death cackling in dark amusement.   
  
The last time they were there he hadn't had much interaction with the Black family, and Alphard had already graduated. This time Alphard was around to lavish him with mischievous smirks and blood boiling innuendos that ended up leaving him very distracted.   
  
He may have been immortal and, in retrospect, very old, but he was a man. An insane, ancient man, but a man nonetheless, one with a youthful libido to boot.   
  
But as much as he would like to think that he could start something with Alphard, he knew that those were delusional thoughts. He would never be able to do that, not with Tom being in the same time period.   
  
Not when he looked as handsome as he ever had.   
  
Not when he felt those possessive eyes on him every time they were in the same room.   
  
Not when old memories of both of them together burned his mind every time he caught sight of him.   
  
Not when he is still so undeniably in love with him.   
  
Harry chuckled humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. Yes, he was indeed an insane fool.   
  
"On another note, our other plans seem to be coming along nicely. Arcturus, in particular, is being admirably cooperative."   
  
Harry chuckled and shrugged. "He does seem to like me more this time around," he said, grinning cheekily in that self-satisfied manner of his.   
  
"You know that he's always had an unhealthy appreciation for you, don't try and play at being humble. It doesn't suit you," he scolded. "I just hadn't thought he would be willing to so openly listen to your suggestions."   
  
"I've repeatedly warned you not to underestimate my charm. How many more centuries until you learn?" he asked Death, shaking his head in mock disappointment.   
  
"At times like these you make it very hard for me to remember why we chose you," he sighed before silently vanishing.   
  
"How rude," Harry muttered when he was left blinking at thin air.   
  
Harry turned his eyes back to stars and sighed, clasping his hands together around his bent knees.   
  
Everything was going as planned and coming along easier than expected, maybe a bit too easily, which left him very wary of the whole situation because nothing was ever easy for him. Yet there he was, once again trying to win Tom Riddle's heart.   
  
During his original time he would have never thought that he would find himself trying to connect with Tom, he hadn't ever wanted to see him again, and he didn't, not for a very long time. He and Death spent the next few decades travelling through different time periods before nostalgia had hit him. It made him decide to try and stop Voldemort from existing to save the people he still carried with him in his heart.   
  
He had come close, so very close, but in the end, it was a failure because he fell in love with the man Tom Marvolo Riddle and he, in turn, was in love with Harry, but it hadn't been enough—Harry hadn't been enough. So, Harry fled and events played out as they had done before because he had been unable to stop the man he had come to love.

  
  
_ Harry was on the roof of the astronomy tower, a place where he came to think or maybe to not think at all. He felt numb as he sat there looking at the stars, searching and memorising the ones he could no longer find. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He heard someone climbing up to join him, but he didn't turn around. Only one person knew to find him here. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ "One of these days you're going to slip off this tower and die," he said as he settled next to him. Harry ignored him and continued searching the sky. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ They sat in silence for the longest time before Tom sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't know what you want me to say, Harry," he hissed, grinding his teeth together. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ An expressionless face and dead green eyes turned to look at him. "I don't think there is anything left to be said between us, Riddle," he said before turning his attention away from him and back to the stars. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Tom didn't say anything for a few moments, just watching the person sitting next to him and not recognising him. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ "So you know," he said, sounding completely unapologetic but Harry didn't react to the insensitivity of his tone. "If that's settled," he sighed, annoyed. "I'll see you around. Best of luck with exams next week," he nodded before getting up and leaving. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ As he started climbing back down Harry called out to him. Tom closed his eyes for a second before he turned to him, heart pounding within his chest. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ "I know why you did it, Tom," he chuckled humorlessly and cleared his throat. "I want you to know that I know why you did it. You were afraid of the shift you felt inside you. So scared that your priorities were suddenly changing, isn't that right, Tom? You went to bed each night thinking of me and ways to keep me close rather than world domination," he chuckled again, darker this time and he shook his head. "Congratulations, you've managed to make the only person in the world that could ever love you, hate you. Embrace Voldemort, Tom, because he's all you'll ever have." _

  
  
Harry quickly tore himself away from his memories and groaned, dropping his forehead to his knees, willing his unshed tears away.   
  
He had given him everything, every last piece of his soul and it hadn't been enough. Why should this time be any different? Could he survive another heartbreak like that? It wasn't really a matter of surviving, no he didn't have the luxury of the afterlife or rebirth. His mind was another matter altogether because there was no doubt left inside him that another such rejection would push him over the brink of insanity he'd been balancing over for so very long.   
  
He feared the person he would become and dreaded the consequences should his plan fail.   
  
He would rather skip this whole process, but if humanity got another chance, than so did Tom Marvolo Riddle.

__


	4. Chapter 4

**November 12th, 1941**

**Slytherin Dungeons,**

**Hogwarts** _   
  
_

There were several reasons why Harry had initially argued so vehemently against going back to Hogwarts, besides wanting to avoid Tom that is. For starters, he hadn’t particularly fancied the thought of keeping up the charade of being a  _ normal  _ seventeen-year-old boy and having to go through the seventh-year curriculum for the third time. Then there was the fact that he was once again going to be surrounded by severely personality-lacking, prejudiced  _ children _ . From experience, Harry knew that mortals around that age weren’t exactly stimulating company. 

There were a million other reasons why he’d been so set against going back to Hogwarts, reasons that saw him avoiding Hogwarts grounds for 389 years. Yet there he was, back to face all the ghosts and memories he’d run away from.

It is true that Hogwarts used to be a place of comfort and a symbol of hope. It is also true that he’d made some memories there that he was rather fond of, but unfortunately they were all tainted by the steady pain of loss. Such was the curse of being an Immortal—outliving everyone that had ever touched your heart.

Over the past few centuries, Harry thought that he’d managed to sever any ties and responsibilities he felt he had towards the mortals roaming the earth, even if he’d never quite mastered the absolute indifference Death felt towards everyone that wasn’t Harry. In any case, he’d done a fine job of keeping out of everyone’s business and pretending that he didn’t care two wits about anything, but that’s all he’d done, pretend and deceive himself.  

While Harry had known that being back at Hogwarts would be painful and make him feel uncomfortable, he hadn’t known that it was going to be like this—haunted at every corner by a multitude of memories from different timelines, all of them evoking several complex emotions he didn’t much care to dwell on. No, he didn’t care to dwell on them at all, but it was becoming increasingly hard for him to simply ignore the mess of emotions building inside him.

The nights spent within the castle walls were by far the worst. When everyone’s gone to sleep, leaving the castle deadly quiet and without any distractions for him to cling to, his subconscious tended to stir in directions he wasn’t at all comfortable with. Even in his sleep, he found no respite, not when his dreams were plagued by vivid scenes he’d rather not relive.

Unfortunately, tonight was no different. Harry was in his bed, limbs tangled distressfully around black, Egyptian silk sheets. His features were twisted into a glare, and his eyes were fluttering restlessly behind his eyelids. His skin looked fevered, a sheen of sweat had already gathered around his brows. His shoulders were tense and he was clutching a fistful of his sheets as he agitatedly turned his head from side to side.

He was haunted by memories tonight, just as he was any other night.

  
  


_ Loud footsteps could be heard resonating around the dark and empty corridor, sounding rushed in their purposeful strides and eager to reach their destination. Quickly, one after the other the steps fell in place, and if you listened closely enough, you could hear the faint but telling tune of a heartbroken man in flight, desperate for escape. Then, if you cared enough, you might find yourself wondering about the possible circumstances that led such a powerful man, one able to produce such heavy steps, to flee. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ On that ordinary winter day, Hogwarts castle found Harry walking briskly down its cold hallways, trying his very best to earn his mastery in evading one Tom Marvolo Riddle. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Over the past week, he had been gracefully successful in avoiding him, but he was willing to bet that it was only so because Tom hadn't bothered to seek him out. He had actually acted as if he didn't exist which was fine with Harry, he very much preferred it that way. It didn't sting at all. It truly didn't. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Now though, now he had this foreboding feeling building inside him, telling him that his luck was about to run out on him. Probably because Tom had unfortunately managed to catch Harry’s gaze before he was able to exit their shared Runes class. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Sure enough, just a few short steps away from being able to cleanly make his way through one of the secret passages, he heard his name being called out from behind him, freezing him in place. He stopped walking but didn't turn around. No, looking at Riddle would be a grave mistake, mostly because if he did he was liable to hex him to oblivion, but also because he didn't trust himself to look into those beautiful, deceiving grey eyes of his. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Harry James Stevenson, is it me or have you been avoiding me?" Tom asked him when he was close enough to use a civilised volume, always so well mannered in public. Harry was surprised that he’d actually called his name from halfway up the corridor. It was so very unlike him and so very uncouth. He must have really wanted to talk to him. Tough. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry sighed and kept on walking, past the secret passageway and towards what promised to be a vexing conversation. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom glared at the back of his head but gave him an inch and decided to follow after him. "You're acting completely irrational," he informed him in that arrogant tone of his. Harry felt like punching him in the face, but instead, he picked up his pace and continued walking, focusing on his breathing. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom quickly caught up to him and growled impatiently next to him.  _

_ Not about to be pushed around, Harry instantly snapped at him. "No one asked you to run after me, Riddle," he told him, trying his best to sound callous. "If my attitude is bothering you, you can turn right back around to where you came from," he said, still not sparing him a glance. _

_   
_ _ It appeared that Tom was done being polite because he grabbed Harry by his arm and turned him around, bringing them both to an abrupt stop. Green crashed violently and stubbornly with grey, neither willing to submit to the other, and so they were stuck in battle. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Will you stop acting like a child?" Tom snarled at him before roughly pushing Harry back into the cold stone wall. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry narrowed his eyes and shoved him away, not about to let Tom haul him around as he saw fit. "You've got some fucking nerve," he raged, still trying very hard not to punch in his perfect face. "You're unbelievable, calling me a child when you're the one that can't handle a mature relationship," he growled, no longer sounding unaffected. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom’s shoulders immediately tensed as he tried to hold back a flinch at the cutting truth of that accusation.  _

_ Tom took in a deep breath and composed himself before things could get any further out of hand. He didn't need to make Harry any angrier with him than he already was. No, that would defeat the whole purpose of going through all this gruelling trouble in the first place. _

_   
_ _ What he needed was for Harry to cave and be compliant because, for some unknown reason, this man was able to hold his interest, as proven to him over the past week of his and Harry's mutual avoidance. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to forget about him and move on just as he’d done so many times before. The possibility that it would be difficult or, rather, impossible for him to do so had never even crossed his mind.  _

_ Once he and Harry parted ways he had honestly tried to force Harry out of his thoughts but found himself completely... incapable of doing so. He had tried everything his brilliant mind could think of, but nothing was able to entertain or keep him occupied long enough for thoughts of Harry to leave his mind. Even in his dreams, his presence tortured him, leaving him restless and troubled. _

_   
_ _ Unfathomable as it was, he found himself missing Harry's company, a notion which was entirely foreign to him. The worst thing was that he didn't only miss the intimate touches that seared his skin because, if he did, he could quickly dismiss those feelings as lust, which at least would be reasonable considering what a talented lover Harry was.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Except no, regrettably for Tom, as he took his time to examine and dissect his feelings, he discerned that he also missed his wit and honesty. How charming. Yes, and he also yearned for his refreshing perspective that disagreed with everything he believed in. Devastatingly charming, indeed. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It was irrational to him. He couldn't surmise why or how this man managed to provoke these… emotions from him. He only knew that he did, and yes, he was sure he did, but only because he took the whole week to research the matter thoroughly or he wouldn't be there, pathetically begging for Harry's attention. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ So, he missed Harry. He could almost accept the truth and move on if it weren't for the simple matter that he couldn't think about anything besides that he was missing Harry. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't focus, and his appetite had completely left him. His perfectly built routine completely shattered because he missed Harry Stevenson. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He'd then decided that things couldn't go on as they were and that if he wanted the boy's company, he would go out and get it. He always took what he wanted, so why should that time be any different? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Why do you have to be so difficult, Harry?" he asked him exasperatedly, defensively crossing his arms over his chest. "Why can’t you simply accept my conditions so that we can go back to the way things were?" he almost pleaded, but it came out sounding more like an unsure demand, making Harry grind his teeth at the petulance of the statement. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Fuck you and your conditions, Riddle," he exclaimed in a hushed tone. "You've given me an ultimatum, and I've chosen. Deal with it," he spat, his eyes glowing with barely contained rage. If Tom thought that he would just fall at his feet because he requested it, he was severely mistaken. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom allowed his hands to fall back to his side and stepped forward, pressing their chests together. "Are you telling me that you didn't enjoy our time together?" he asked him dubiously, knowing very well that Harry had enjoyed their time together, especially behind closed doors. He knew this as well as he knew that Harry cared for him. Even after everything Tom had revealed to him, Harry cared. That was also a new experience. Harry never held any judgment in his eyes for him, only ever understanding. Not that day, though. That day they burned with anger and hurt, yet surprisingly still no hatred. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ With his face set in an indignant scowl, Harry angrily stepped away, ignoring the rush the contact between their chests sent through his body. "That doesn't mean that I'll let you turn me into one of your little puppets," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not one of your little chess pieces to manipulate into position. So fuck your conditions and your rules because I don't need you, Riddle," he shrugged, eyes glinting brightly with vengeance. "If what we have isn't important enough to you, I'm not about to bother. I'm more than capable of looking elsewhere for what you can't give me," Harry smirked, taunting him with a raised brow. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom's grey eyes instantly filled with jealousy, swirling violently with a dark need to destroy. He was unable to restrain himself when faced with such a suggestion, and a second later, Tom had Harry shoved to the wall by his throat, with his wand pointing dangerously at his vulnerable, pulsating artery. "You forget who you're talking to, Harry," he warned in a threatening whisper. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry smiled evilly before he sent the arrogant boy flying back into the opposing wall. The impact sounded painful, as did the scraping sounds his back produced as he slid down the rough bricks, disarmed and conscious because Harry wanted him to be. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "It's you who forgets, Tom," he sang huskily, probably enjoying the little power play more than he should. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom decided that even though moving sounded like the worst idea, lying unresponsive on the ground wasn't an option. He groaned silently in his head as he rubbed his tender shoulder and got back up on unsteady legs. He pushed up his head, wincing at the discomfort in his neck, and turned to face a smirking Harry, who had his head tilted to the side while twisting around Tom's wand between his long fingers. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ While Tom knew that he should feel afraid of the man standing before him, all he could feel was lust at the alluring sight of Harry exhibiting such power and confidence. The lust instantly swelled in the pit of his stomach, heating up his entire body until he felt like he was about to burst with unbridled need. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Yes, he should definitely feel terrified of standing in front of this man disarmed and exposed, but all he wanted to do was reach out to him and pull their bodies flush together. He wanted to feel Harry's lips battling with his own, fighting him for dominance. He wanted to explore the passion and confidence he saw in his eyes. He wanted to be bent under his rough touches and gentle whispers. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ He wanted to own him, all of him. All that passion and power, he wanted it all to himself. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Fine," he said on the verge of being breathless. "I'll agree to be monogamous with you," he said, sounding convinced with his decision even as his heart clenched fearfully within his chest. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry's smirk quickly dropped off his face. "Excuse me?" he sputtered, blinking repeatedly in disbelief, because he hadn't just heard what he thought he just heard. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom took a step forward, once again closing the space between them and pressing their chests together, but this time Harry was too shocked to move away from him. "I will not repeat myself," Tom told him curtly, looking intently into his green eyes, enjoying the surprise and hope he saw growing inside those brilliant jewels. "Do we have an agreement?" he asked him with a small grin on his face, softly dropping his forehead down to Harry's. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "What about your conditions?" he asked him warily, not ready to accept what Tom had just said to him. Not yet. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ "Fuck my conditions," he said, chuckling at the way Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Tom never swore. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry gulped, feeling his chest rising and falling rapidly. "First you have to say it," he told him shakily, but the seriousness in his voice couldn't be mistaken as he pleaded gently with his eyes for him not to reject his request. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom's whole body tensed, knowing very well what Harry was asking him to say. It was how their argument had started, his unwillingness to admit that he had somehow managed to develop… an attachment towards Harry. But it was undeniable now, wasn't it? _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry didn't know how long Tom kept on staring into his eyes before he finally felt him give a small nod. "I care for you, Harry," he whispered hoarsely, clearing his throat. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Harry gave him a brilliant smile and reached up to cup his blushing cheek. "If I find out that you've stepped out on me, Riddle, you're a dead man,” he joked, but only somewhat, with a playful glare on his face. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Tom chuckled and shook his head. "I don’t need anyone else now that I have you," he said, using the gentlest tone Harry has ever heard him use, and not a moment later he was leaning down to capture his lips in a heated kiss. _

_   
_ _   
_ Before their lips could meet, Harry woke up with a start, drenched in sweat and trembling, an open book sprawled over his chest.   
  
"Fuck," he swore, closing his eyes and running a shaky hand through his messy hair. "Fuck," he repeated, louder this time and more distressed.   
  
"Buggering, fucking, fuck!" he screamed, throwing his book at the curtains surrounding his bed. He pushed away his sheets, not bothered by the chilled air that hit his skin, and climbed out of bed, pacing back and forth, forcing himself to calm down.   
  
"Fucking bastard," he mumbled viciously under his breath before he pushed aside his curtains and got out, only to find Alphard up and awake, looking out at the Black Lake.   
  
Alphard, having heard the slight commotion, turned around with a confused look on his weary face. "Is everything alright, Harry?" he asked him, tiredly rubbing his eyes.   
  
Harry was stuck, unable to make up an excuse in his confused and sleep-deprived state of mind.   
  
"Harry," he repeated, getting up from the perch next to the window. "What happened?"   
  
"Nothing, I'm fine," he answered automatically, and it was true, nothing had really happened. His only problem was that his memories just wouldn't leave him alone, especially not in his dreams.   
  
"Then why are you crying?" he asked, stepping forward to wipe away said tears. Harry hadn't even noticed them. He blushed and looked away, clearing his throat.   
  
"I'd rather not talk about it," he said instead of lying. It didn't feel right to lie to Alphard.   
  
"Where were you going at this hour? Half naked no less," he chuckled trying to lighten the mood, placing his open palm against Harry's chest.   
  
Harry shrugged but didn't move away from him, too disorientated to notice Alphard’s not so subtle advances on him. "Nowhere, I just needed to clear my head a bit," he said sounding as tired as he felt.    
  
Alphard gave him a worried look. "Go back to bed, Harry. You look like you’re about to collapse. If you'd rather, my bed is big enough for both of us," he teased him with a wink.   
  
Harry's heart picked up, suddenly noticing the admiring way Alphard was glancing at his naked chest. Harry took a hesitant step back and tried to stop his body from reacting to his proximity.   
  
Alphard rolled his eyes, "I'll be a perfect gentleman," he informed him. "Just thought you might like some company," he explained trying to contain his amusement, misinterpreting Harry's actions for modesty and shyness.   
  
Harry smiled sadly and sighed. Thinking about it, yes, he would like some company, even the type of company he knew Alphard would offer if only he asked. But, he couldn't.   
  
Harry summoned his shirt to him and shook his head. "I really need to go clear my head," he insisted, hoping his friend didn't feel rejected. "I won't be long," he reassured when he saw him about to protest.   
  
"Suit yourself, Harry," he shrugged, fortunately not looking insulted as he made his way back to his bed. "Night," he said before closing his curtains.   
  
"Night," Harry sighed, before pulling on his shirt.

* * *

 

Quidditch, of course.   
  
Why wouldn't he be a star athlete as well?   
  
Hadrian Peverell, the rich, smart, powerful, handsome, nice, and athletic seventh-year Slytherin student.   
  
He won them their first game. Of course he did.   
  
Now everyone seemed to flock to him. Everyone. Moths, the lot of them.   
  
After thinking back on Hadrian's first month of seclusion, it could very much have been due to the fact that he had still been grieving and adjusting. He had just lost his parents a few months ago, had he not? And wasn’t it common for certain individuals to seclude themselves because of some all-consuming sadness they felt over losing a loved one? At least that was what he'd read and observed for himself.   
  
Peverell didn't seem to be grieving any longer. Oh no, the little caterpillar had transformed into a social butterfly. He spoke and joked around with everyone, not caring about their house or blood-status.   
  
'A person is a person, regardless of their heritage or species,' Tom had heard Harry explain to the wench Lucretia in a firm but kind tone when she had heatedly glared at him for helping a Muggle-born Hufflepuff.   
  
'They eat, sleep, feel pain and joy, just as you do. An insult to any creature is an insult to mother Magic, for she has created us all. Do you not think that mother Magic wants harmony amongst her children? We forget all too often the wisdom and beauty of our mother. Should we not all trust in her and her reasons for creating each one of us? Should we not feel privileged to behold all wonders offered to us so generously?'   
  
Lucretia had tears misting her grey eyes by the end of that hippy comment while Tom had tried very hard not to gag as he imagined rainbows and unicorns sprouting out Peverell's arse.   
  
Dumbledore had also conveniently heard that hippy tripe, because of course he did. 'Take twenty points to Slytherin, Mr Peverell, for that heartwarming but very astute explanation. Maybe you would like to lead a thanks offering on Samhain, to thank our Lady mother for her generosity.'   
  
Tom had gotten up and walked away before he could hear the rest.   
  
Everyone loved him, even Dumbledore. Maybe especially Dumbledore.   
  
They all loved him.   
  
Tom could now very well imagine Peverell involved in their politics. He could also see him going very far, very quickly, what with his charm and love for everyone. Worst of all Tom didn't even think that it was faked, not even a smidgen. Peverell seemed to genuinely care.   
  
Now Tom didn't know what had him more bewildered, the thought that he actually cared or the thought that he was that good of an actor. He had seen first hand the darkness that resided somewhere deep inside of Hadrian, all of Slytherin had, but since then Peverell had been nothing but an exemplary student.   
  
How he hated him. Hated how he so effortlessly seemed to be everything Tom wanted to be. Hated how he smiled and laughed. Hated those dimples that appeared on his cheeks whenever he was particularly amused. Hated the way he scolded bullies and he especially hated that hero complex he seemed to have. Hated him absolutely and thoroughly.   
  
Yet how he wanted him, craved him more desperately with each passing day. How could he want a person he has never spoken to before? How could he feel so drawn to a person that even with all their darkness, they seemed to burn brighter than any star in the sky?   
  
No, he doesn't understand how or why, but he has become tired of questioning himself.   
  
He would have Hadrian Peverell. Yes, he would have him soon enough. After all, he'd already set his plan in motion.   
  
Soon enough Tom would no longer be just another fourth-year to Peverell. He'd pique his curiosity, charm his heart, and seduce his senses. He'd make sure that he won’t wake or go to sleep without thoughts of him on his mind. That no aspect of his life would be left free of the need to be shared with Tom.   
  
He'd made peace with his obsession, hoping that its intensity would fade once he finally got what he so desperately desired, which would be soon enough.

* * *

It was Friday and the last class of the day had just let out. Harry was packing his things away, getting ready to leave the Potions classroom, when Professor Slughorn called out and asked him to stay behind.

  
Alphard gave him a curious tilt of his head, but Harry just shrugged and pointed his head towards the door, silently telling him that he would catch up later.   
  
Without another word, he left the classroom and Harry alone with the Professor.   
  
"Am I in trouble, Professor?" he asked the weary-looking man. He tried his very best to keep the man happy with his work, knowing that while he was annoying, at some point his connections could be very useful to him. So because of his vigilant work and attendance, he couldn't see what he could have possibly done to upset the man.   
  
"Nothing like that, my boy!" he assured quickly, giving him a large smile.   
  
Harry stopped himself from raising his eyebrows and smiled politely back instead. "Then how can I be of assistance, Sir?" he asked him, curious to see what the man could possibly want from him.   
  
"You see, I was hoping to ask you for a favour," he started, and Harry already didn't like where this was going.   
  
"Yes?" he prompted ever politely, trying very hard to keep his impatience locked away and unseen.   
  
He didn't see Death around, but he was pretty sure he heard him sniggering somewhere in the distance. It was the kind of sniggering that indicated that an evil plan was about to unfold. It made Harry feel uneasy, to say the least.   
  
"One of my Slytherin fourth-year students has requested a tutor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He's a brilliant student, and in my personal opinion doesn't need any tutoring, but the boy is in complete devastation over his first ever Exceeded Expectations," he said, widening his eyes as he remembered how lost and helpless the boy had looked. It had been heartbreaking, really.   
  
That conniving little rat. Both those conniving little rats! 

Harry already knew who this brilliant student was, and so did Death. Death was probably the one that planted the idea in the boy's head to begin with.

  
"I've spoken to Professor Merrythought, and she mentioned that you are by far her best student, even if you seem to be hiding your true potential. Now, I wasn't very happy to hear about this tidbit of information, but I will let it slide if I hear that you are involving yourself more in your lessons. I won't have any wasted potential in my house," he reprimanded, and Harry could almost imagine him wagging a disappointed finger at him.   
  
Before Harry could say anything in his defence, Slughorn went on. "Right, now that is settled, back to the primary matter at hand. Tom Riddle has requested a few tutoring lessons, and I think that you will be the perfect candidate to reassure him that this one EE is simply a fluke and that he will be back to his usual O standards in no time."   
  
That didn't sound much like a request to Harry.    
  
"While I could ask a number of other students to do this, you've shown so much school spirit over the past month that I thought you would jump at the opportunity to help out a fellow Slytherin student." In other words, no one else was as friendly or approachable as him. Brilliant.   
  
"Splendid, Mr Peverell. I am so very grateful for your help. Take ten points to Slytherin for house unity! Yes, yes. I have a feeling that you will be going very far, Mr Peverell, very far indeed."   
  
Not a request, then.   
  
"Thank you, Sir. I shall endeavour to make our house proud," he said, not quite able to keep out the sarcasm from the statement. But, Merlin bless him, Slughorn was as oblivious as always, nodding and smiling away happily.   
  
So, it would seem that Tom Riddle was done being ignored by him, meaning that the first part of his plan was working perfectly, and it took a lot less time than he thought it would.   
  
The only drawback he saw was that he wasn't going to be able to avoid Tom anymore. Bullocks.

* * *

 

  
**November 13th, 1941** **  
** **Hogwarts,**

**Castle Grounds**   
  
The next day Harry was lounging around on the fresh grass in front of the Black Lake with Fleamont and Alphard. Curiously enough they both got along... maybe not well, but they were civil enough, even if he suspected it was more to set his mind at ease than any actual camaraderie forming between them.   
  
It was well past midday when a figure came and blocked their sun, clearing their throat behind them. Instantly, Harry had to stop himself from outwardly reacting to the new arrival, knowing exactly who it was that was unashamedly blocking their sun.   
  
All three seventh-years turned around to see who came to disturb their peace, the other two surprised to see that it was Tom Riddle interrupting their relaxing Saturday afternoon.   
  
Fleamont frowned at the little Slytherin but said nothing. Alphard, on the other hand, looked about ready to insult him or curse him.   
  
"Riddle, right?" Harry decided to ask him with a cautious smile, hoping Alphard would get the message to shut up.   
  
"Yes," Tom agreed, not looking the least bit intimidated by the upper-years he faced. "Do you think it is possible for us to talk in private for a moment, Peverell?" he asked him politely with a charming smile in place, not showing at all how much it hurt for him to request instead of demand. But Harry knew, knew that it hurt him a great deal. He also knew that it was particularly difficult for Tom to admit his shortcomings, which is why he was still very surprised that Tom decided to take this route to introduce himself into his life.   
  
"It's getting rather chilly out here, might as well head back to the castle," he said, brushing off the dirt from his knees. "We can have your chat on our way in," he agreed reluctantly as he got up, heart beating erratically in his chest. "I'll see you after dinner Fleamont. Library?" he asked, proud that he didn't stumble his way through his words with the way his nerves were all jumbled.   
  
"Yeah, we'll walk together," Fleamont agreed with a winning smile, which quickly turned into a frown when his eyes landed on Riddle. His eyes seemed to warn Tom not to try any funny business. How cute, Harry's grandfather was still looking out for him, even after he’d seen that he was perfectly capable of handling himself.   
  
"Alphard?" Harry asked, knowing that the other boy would understand. It was truly a wonder how their friendship had developed over the past few months.   
  
"Dinner," he agreed, not taking his hostile and calculating eyes off Riddle. That might be a problem in future, but Harry decided to deal with one issue at a time.   
  
With one last nod, he turned and started following after Tom, waiting for him to break the ice between them, curiously wondering what it was that he would say to him first.   
  
It took a while, but eventually, Tom spoke. "Professor Slughorn has informed me that he has assigned you as my tutor," he started in a natural tone, giving him a short side glance as they walked towards the castle entrance.   
  
Harry raised his eyebrows but kept his face impassive. No pleasantries, then, and right to the point. It was so very typical of him that Harry felt an almost unstoppable urge to smile wildly at the boy walking by his side. It has been so long, so very long since they had spoken so casually together. Even in their last weeks together, the tension had grown so much that it extinguished any playfulness and ease that had developed between them.   
  
It had been so long, and he missed him, missed  _ him _ too much to put to words. He longed to rush this all along and hold him in his arms. That's what he wanted, it's what he'd wanted long before they came back here. But that didn’t mean that he was going to throw away all of his plans and make it easy for Tom. No, it needed to be a slow but sure process. The world depended on that.   
  
Tom waited patiently for a good few minutes in silence before breaking it. "I assure you that I am a fast learner, and that I will not take up a lot of your time. This was the first EE that I've ever received, and I intend to make sure that it is my last. I think that a month should suffice to ensure such results," he said, keeping a tight leash on his frustration. He turned around and gave Harry his most charming smile while on the inside he was raving and screaming.   
  
How was it that Hadrian Peverell seemed utterly unaffected by him? In fact, he looked positively peeved with him, and his silence wasn't exactly convincing him otherwise.   
  
Was it something Alphard said to him, or maybe Dumbledore? It was possible, also probable, but Peverell wasn't the type to let other people's opinion affect his judgment.   
  
Tom himself had never acted anything but exemplary in public, which meant it couldn't have been anything he had done. Yet here Peverell was, acting as if he would rather be anywhere else but there with him. He would dismiss it as annoyance at having to tutor a fourth-year, but it felt deeper than that. It was the way he wouldn't look directly into his eyes and that unusual tension in his shoulders.   
  
Harry's heart didn't skip a beat when he saw that beautiful smile, however insincere he knew it was—it didn't. 

He gulped silently and threw Tom a small grin. "Slughorn mentioned as much," he decided to finally say, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I need to warn you, I can't have this clashing with any quidditch practice. Thursday evening after classes is about the only time I have available. Would that be agreeable with you?"

  
He wasn't really asking, not when he had already clearly stated that it was the only time he was free to help him. He wasn't exactly being impolite, but something about his tone rubbed Tom the wrong way. It was so… not reluctant, even if it was obvious that he was. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something off with the way Peverell was acting with him. The best he could describe it would be strained.   
  
"I should manage," Tom managed to say without letting on how confused he felt.

This wasn't at all how he’d imagined this would go. There were no piqued interests or charmed hearts, and he’d definitely not been given the chance to seduce him. No, it wasn't going at all as he'd imagined.

  
"Right," Harry nodded, once again running a hand through his hair. "I'll see you in the library at five on Thursday," he said and, without another word, turned the other direction and took his leave from Tom’s company.   
  
Tom stood at the castle entrance completely dumbfounded and lost at the turn of events.   
  
Something just didn't fit.   
  
Hadrian Peverell liked everyone in the castle, in the whole damned world, except, it seemed, Tom Riddle. There was no other or more gentle way to put it. Hadrian Peverell just didn't like him.   
  
Harry was usually more than excited to socialise, friendly smirk always on his lips. There should have been no reason for him not to act in the same friendly manner with Tom, and the prospect that he might not hadn't even crossed his mind. But somehow, for some reason Tom couldn't see, Harry didn't like him. Period. Instead, he seemed agitated and uncomfortable, almost irritated by his presence. Leaving as soon as the opportunity presented itself.   
  
For some reason, Peverell didn't like him, and that thought settled a heavy rock in the pit of his stomach.   
  
Tom clenched his jaw and made his way to the dungeons, his eyes alight with fury.   
  
Hadrian Peverell may not like him at this present time, but that would change.   
  
One day soon he'd have him on his back, begging to be touched by him—begging to take him.   
  
One day soon he wouldn’t be able to live without him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to KingOMalley for your patience and brilliant editing!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

**November 18th, 1941**

**Slytherin Dungeons**

 

As hard as it had been, over the past few days, Harry had successfully managed to push aside all thoughts of his impending tutoring session with Tom. He resolutely refused to be bent into a frantic state of nervousness over something as simple and innocent as a  _ tutoring session. _

So Harry had neatly tucked away any and all thoughts of Tom into a box that was stored on a shelf at the very back of his consciousness. He then proceeded to build an impenetrable barrier around the box in addition to the ones that had already been set in place.

But now—with only forty minutes left on the clock for him to get to the library—all the emotions and thoughts he’d been so desperately trying to box away tore out of their confines, unleashing onto him a violent storm.

_ Merlin,  _ it was just so embarrassing for him to feel such trepidation towards spending time with a fourteen-year-old. Yet all his anxiety and nervousness weren’t able to quench the unjustifiable exuberance he felt towards the prospect of spending time with  _ Tom _ .

It was precisely because of this exultant feeling that was dominating his emotions that he’d tried so hard to lock away all thoughts of Tom. He didn’t want to feel triumphant and exhilarated at the mere notion of spending time with the boy that had broken him so many times, in so many different ways. 

It was too easy to ignore, to disregard and overlook the potential the boy had to destroy him. So very easy to forget that this beautiful boy had the potential to grow into a grotesque monster driven by fear and bloodlust.

It was a delicate matter, dancing on the edge as he was. Balancing between loving and loathing him. 

He could never allow himself to tip to either side. 

Could never allow himself to love him more than he despised him. 

Could never allow his desire for him to overpower the repulsion he felt. 

If he did, he would inevitably forget. He would lose himself in Tom and there would be nothing left of himself.   

He’d forgive him and he’d forget, allowing Tom the opening he needed to once again destroy his world… and whatever was left of his heart. 

He could never allow that to happen. 

So he danced and pushed and pulled—always and forevermore pushing himself, then reeling himself back in.

Yes, it was a delicate matter indeed. Delicate and deadly.

He knew very well that he couldn’t permit his emotions to cloud his judgment, and he was also perfectly aware that he couldn’t afford any slips in his composure. 

There was no room for him to err. He needed to be calm and collected; poised and in absolute control of his actions and emotions. 

Yet he was helpless to the onslaught of emotional waves crashing against each other, each a contradiction to the other, rolling roughly and fighting to dominate.

He was a slave to the storm, pushed and dragged to the powerful whims of the rough currents. 

Dragged down, down, down—always deeper and steeper—further down and onwards into the heart of the storm. 

All his training and all his centuries of experience were no match against the raw and inexplicable emotions that were tightly woven into his heart. 

True love is held back by no logic and is restrained by no barrier. True love is unshakable, its sting embedded into your very being and thus changing you forever. You cannot outrun it, nor can you protect yourself from its venom. 

And it was because of all those reasons that Harry found himself fretting over something as trivial as his choice in wardrobe.

He was utterly  _ pathetic _ .  

Right now, Harry, with a green towel wrapped around his waist and still dripping wet from the shower, was agitatedly rummaging through his closet trying to find something suitable to wear to impress Tom.  _ Impress  _ Tom. 

He was utterly wracked with nerves and the state in which his corner of the shared dorm room found itself in reflected as much. 

Several articles of clothing were scattered on the floor and on his bed, and more were still following as Harry irrationally felt that none of them were appropriate. 

"I highly doubt that your choice in clothing is going to make much of a difference to Riddle," Death drawled as he watched yet another pair of pants be carelessly discarded to the side.   
  
"I didn’t ask you to come and watch me get ready, so just bugger off and go do some soul collecting, or whatever it is you do when you’re not around to make me miserable," Harry snarked back, head still buried in his closet.    
  
Death scoffed and shook his head. "And miss you bumbling about like a fool? I think not, friend."   
  
Harry grumbled something unintelligible under his breath then straightened his back and emerged from the depths of his closet with a pile of clothes in his hands. He slammed his closet door shut and turned to face Death with a dark glare fixed on his face and a warning glinting dangerously behind his eyes.    
  
"I can’t possibly begin to guess what you've got planned, but whatever it is isn’t going to happen,” he told him, forcefully punctuating each word to make sure that his friend understood that he wasn’t playing around. “I don't want to see or hear you anywhere near us this evening. Is that understood?" he demanded, taking a threatening forward and looking straight into the abyss of Death’s hood, unafraid of the void he saw.    
  
"Where’s the fun in that, Harry, darling?" Death crooned sinisterly, not at all intimidated by Harry’s threatening presence.    
  
"I'm not fucking joking,” Harry growled through clenched teeth. “You've meddled enough as it is. Don't think for a second that I don't know that you're the one that planted this idiotic idea in his head."

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Death said in a faux perplexed tone that grated at Harry’s fraying nerves. 

Harry groaned and turned his back to Death, deciding that an argument was a waste of his time.

“Just don’t bother me tonight. You got what you wanted, now let me handle the rest,” he said before allowing the towel to drop from his waist so that he could change 

“As well as you’re handling your choice in attire?” Death couldn’t help but quip back, dodging the heavy belt Harry threw his way. 

“As well as I’ll skin your hide if you don’t shut the hell up,” he threatened as he pulled up his pants. 

Death’s lack of response almost made Harry turn around, but as soon as Harry fastened his black trousers Alphard barged into their dorm room looking puzzled. 

“Harry? Who were you talking to?” he asked, looking around the room and clearly searching for someone. 

“Myself,” Harry was quick to supply, sending Death a glare that could rival his own. 

“I could swear I heard you say something about skinning someone’s hide... and what in Morgana’s name happened in here!” he exclaimed, utterly bewildered by the mess Harry had made on his side of the room.

Harry never allowed his area to get into this state of disarray. He was rather neurotic in his tendency to keep everything neat and in order. So it was quite the shock to Alphard’s system to witness this when just this morning Harry had scolded him about a set of school robes he’d forgotten to put away the night before.

“Nothing, just couldn’t find this shirt,” Harry admitted sheepishly, innocently holding up said shirt he’d apparently been searching for. 

“What's all this fuss about then? Where are you going?” Alphard asked him curiously, immediately narrowing his eyes when he noticed the nice looking dark green shirt Harry was buttoning up. 

“Nowhere, really. Right now I’m probably late for my first tutoring session with Riddle,” he sighed, casting a quick tempus and cringing when his suspicions were confirmed.   

Alphard frowned and threw his bag onto his bed with a touch too much force. “I forgot about that. I still don’t understand why you didn’t just tell Riddle to bugger off.” 

The fact that Tom Riddle was somewhat of a prodigy was no secret. The thought that he might need tutoring was laughable. So really, when Tom Riddle was suddenly asking for tutoring you simply knew that it was part of some ploy. 

Tom Riddle was the worst kind of bad news, and Alphard didn’t want to see his friend falling in with the likes of  _ him _ . 

It was far too easy to fall for Tom Riddle’s charm. He’d seen many of his housemates and peers fall for the younger boy’s charismatic presence, which was unfortunately only aided by the angelic face he was blessed with. He’d always been a beautiful child, and as he grew older his striking features became even more pronounced, captivating almost everyone that had the pleasure of laying their eyes on him.   

He was beautiful, much too beautiful. 

His face made you forget the monster that lurks beneath the mask. Made you forget about the venom that flowed through the boy’s blood. Made you forget just exactly why Tom Riddle was the unopposed Serpent King of Slytherin. 

Harry threw Alphard an exasperated look, having already had this argument with him before. 

“Slughorn approached me first. I could hardly say no to Slughorn,” he reminded Alphard as he slipped on his dark grey waistcoat.

“I don’t know what game he’s playing, but that boy doesn’t need any tutoring, Hadrian,” Alphard warned him once again, frustrated by the fact that even after he’d specifically warned him away from the Riddle, Harry was still going go along and play right into his hand. 

“Slughorn mentioned as much,” he shrugged, turning around to face his mirror, “and I’m perfectly aware that Riddle has an agenda. I’m not as ignorant to inter-house politics as you might think, Alphard. But I’m fairly confident that I can handle myself against a fourth-year, even if he is a prodigy. Besides, I’m curious about the little Slytherin King whose name is on everyone’s lips. Now, I would really appreciate it if we could drop this argument,” he finished with a clipped tone, prepared to ignore any further protests from his friend. 

Alphard sighed but relented, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of it.  Instead, he watched his friend as he fixed and tidied his shirt, then gave himself a once over in the mirror before a small approving smile graced his lips. 

He untied his hair and ran his hand through the shoulder-length waves, trying to comb out any knots that might have formed through the day.

Harry was the type of person that always made sure to look his best, but he didn’t  _ primp _ . He never put too much care into his appearance. His perfection was always casually and effortlessly attained since he was much too handsome to look anything other than perfect, and he knew that.  

So Alphard couldn’t help but notice the extra care Harry was investing in himself this evening. 

“Is there a specific reason why you’re primping yourself before a tutoring session with Riddle?” he asked crisply, unable to effectively mask the jealousy he felt stirring in his heart.

Hadrian couldn’t possibly be... interested in Tom Riddle, could he?   

Harry paused his fingers mid-comb and locked his eyes onto his friend’s through the mirror. 

Harry wasn’t blind to Alphard’s feelings for him, so he couldn’t help but feel guilty when he caught the hurt and jealous glint in his eyes.

He would need to find a way to gently dissuade his feelings because the last thing he wanted was for Alphard to get hurt.

Alphard narrowed his grey eyes at Harry, but before he could utter another word Orion burst into their room with his bag swinging casually behind him.  

“Har-ry,” he sang. “Are you done yet? Woah, looking particularly fancy this evening, Peverell,” he complimented him with a small but sincere smile, blissfully ignorant to the fact that his innocent compliment had just raised the tension in the room tenfold. 

With one last glance at Alphard, Harry quickly tied his hair into a low and elegant ponytail, then he turned to face his friends. 

“Thanks, Orion,” he mumbled, giving the oblivious boy a tense smile.

Alphard just glared at both of them before he gave a resigned sigh and threw himself onto his bed with a groan. 

Orion looked between the two, confused with the exchange. When Alphard buried his face in his pillow he turned his questioning gaze onto Harry. “What’s wrong with him?”

Harry forced a grin and shrugged, cupping the side of his mouth with his palm as if to share a secret. “It’s probably that time of the month,” he whispered loud enough for Alphard to hear, hoping that it would diffuse this awkward tension in the room. 

Alphard was quick to send a pillow flying Harry’s way while Orion rolled his eyes at them. ‘And people dared call  _ him _ immature,’ he thought, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“If you two are quite done, Harry and I have places to be and things to do. Don’t we, Harry?” 

Harry hummed and nodded his head in agreement. “Right you are, Orion,” he said and went to grab his bag from under a pile of his clothes. 

On their way out, Alphard called out one last warning to Harry. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you find yourself being fed to a snake in the Forbidden Forest!” he exclaimed before Harry slammed the door shut on him. 

Orion looked at Harry and back at the firmly shut door. “What was that about?” 

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, keeping his eyes set firmly in front of him as they made their way out of the Slytherin common room. 

Orion opened his mouth to press the issue, but he seemed to notice Harry’s reluctance to share and decided against it.

Harry gave him an appreciative smile and went back to mentally preparing himself for the upcoming dance. 

_ Let the music begin _ , he thought wearily as the common room door slammed ominously behind them.

* * *

 

Tom was comfortably seated at one of the more secluded tables in the library, working on the thirteen-inch Arithmancy essay he’d been assigned that day while trying not to think about Peverell, who was already running five minutes late. 

Over the past few days, he had done his best not to allow his thoughts to linger on the indifference Peverell had shown him, but it had been impossible to ignore. It nagged at him at all hours of the day, unrelenting in its persistence. 

He wouldn’t have felt this unease or concern if there wasn’t such a stark difference in Hadrian’s attitude towards everyone else in the school.

After their small exchange, Tom had watched the man’s interactions even more closely, wanting to determine if he really was the only one treated with this type of open disregard. 

Unfortunately, his observations concluded that he was indeed the only person in the castle Hadrian Peverell acted towards with such apathetic dismissal. 

_ What had he done to deserve such treatment? _ Over and over again he asked himself that one question, never coming closer to a feasible explanation. 

Before he could continue distracting himself from his unfinished essay with more troubling and vexing thoughts on why Peverell disliked him, he caught sight of the man himself entering the library... with Orion Black just a step behind him.

Tom’s mood darkened at the sight of the fifth-year Slytherin, and he hoped that the boy wouldn’t be staying with them throughout the whole duration of their tutoring session. If Peverell did invite Black to stay with them, there was nothing Tom could do about it. He couldn’t risk seeming rude when this was his chance to charm the older boy and redeem himself from whatever opinion he had already formed.  

Once Peverell was close enough for Tom to notice exactly what he was wearing, he was sharply robbed of all the breath in his lungs and any coherent thought. 

The dark green shirt he wore hugged his arms and torso in a way that showed off the strong muscle one could find under his skin. His black pants fit low on his waist while the grey button-up waistcoat fit him snugly, allowing him to look deliciously sinful and absolutely ravishing.  

Tom had to look away from him and actively think of something absolutely repulsive to battle off the flush he could feel rising up his neck. 

“Riddle,” Harry nodded in friendly greeting, dropping his bag on one of the available chairs around Tom’s chosen table. 

“Peverell,” Tom acknowledged with a small, innocent smile, rolling up the essay he had been working on to buy himself some more time to compose himself. “Black,” he inclined his head, having decided that it was in his best interest to act completely cordial with the fifth-year in Peverell’s presence. 

“Riddle,” Orion grumbled, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Tom’s unusually civil demeanour towards him. It was, after all, no secret that Tom despised all the Blacks residing within the castle, with Cygnus being the only exception. 

“My sincerest apologies for running late, Riddle,” Peverell apologised as he took a seat, but gave no excuse for his tardiness. 

Tom simply shrugged. “None needed,” he waved off. While he wasn’t exactly thrilled about being left waiting, he was more concerned about the fact that Orion Black was sitting at his table, but he didn’t say anything about that either. 

Hadrian must have caught Tom’s eyes flickering towards Orion because he turned to Tom with a rueful grin on his face and explained. 

“Right, Orion is here because he’s helping me with a side project I’m working on. He’s going to be drowning in books in about ten minutes, so don’t worry, you’ll have my undivided attention,” he reassured him.

Tom gave a nod and felt himself relax. At least Black would be too occupied to interfere.   

Harry swiftly pulled out a folded piece of parchment from his bag and handed it over to Black. 

“These are the books we need to find. Just compile a list with all the relevant instances you find, including the reference so that it’ll be easier to integrate later,” Peverell instructed him, pushing him towards the towering aisles of books. “Just remember that you’re the one that signed up to help when you get a headache from all the tiny script, okay?” 

Without another word, Orion strutted away, more than content to leave Riddle’s company. 

“What is it that you’re working on?” Tom asked genuinely curious, and then hastily added, “If you don’t mind me asking, that is,” not wanting to somehow offend the older boy simply because he wasn’t able to curb his curiosity.  

Harry stopped taking out his things from his bag and turned his green eyes to look at Tom. 

So polite and, in a way, completely unrecognisable. Even his eyes were a brighter shade of grey, lacking the madness of a torn soul.  

“I don’t mind, but it’s all very boring stuff. Over the past summer, I took my rightful seat in the Wizengamot, and I’m currently working on a few legislations I wish to introduce in the near future. Orion has generously offered to help me with some of the tedious research that needs to be done before I’m able to introduce them to the Wizengamot,” he explained without really giving an answer. 

Tom wasn’t fooled by the non-answer, and it only served to increase his curiosity. 

“What kind of legislation?” Tom asked before he could restrain himself, earning himself a sharp look from Peverell. 

“Aren’t I meant to be tutoring you in DADA?” Harry asked a touch too sternly.  

Tom lowered his eyes and gave him a reluctant nod, clearly disappointed at having been denied an answer but unwilling to further upset the man with more probing. 

Harry was as eager to discuss his plans with Tom as Tom was to hear them. 

But he couldn’t do that, not yet. It wasn’t the time to discuss all the ways he wanted to change the world. 

Once he was sure that all the pieces were falling into place and he successfully secured Tom’s loyalty, he’d include him, but only then. 

He would, however, give him a small crumb to sate some of his curiosity. 

Harry allowed an apologetic smile to grace his lips. “I’m sorry for being so abrupt with you, Riddle. I know what it’s like to have an overly curious mind. Knowledge is power after all, and I can appreciate that in sharp mind such as yours.” 

Tom tried not to let the small compliment get to him, but it did. He was pleased to know that at the very least Peverell had heard about his abilities.   

“I’m young still, but I’ve got a few changes I wish to make that I believe will serve for the betterment of our world. I find that we have lost our ways amidst all the prejudice and conflict. Fear and injustice rule our laws and as the years pass us by we descend further into self-destruction. The public is blind and unaware, content with being oblivious to all the problems and dangers that surround us. We are so weak that we allowed an individual wizard with a vision reap chaos across several nations. Changes must be made if we want to survive.” 

Tom couldn’t help but hang onto every word that Peverell said, carefully filing away every word that slipped from between his lips. It was clear to anyone who dared to take a closer look that this was a subject Peverell was very passionate about. 

While Tom agreed with everything he’d said so far, he noticed that Peverell hadn’t really said much at all. He’d revealed nothing of his beliefs. One had to admire Peverell’s skill. 

Anyone else would have probably mindlessly nodded their head, swiftly agreeing without really knowing what they were agreeing with, but Tom was no such fool.

“That’s all very well put, but it doesn’t reveal any of your intentions,” he pointed out. “Everyone has a different opinion on what actions define progress. For all I know your ideas for a better world align directly with Grindelwald's vision.”

Harry took his time to look thoroughly insulted. “Do I really look like someone who would condone mindless slaughter?” 

“You don’t,” Tom was quick to agree, “but that wasn’t the argument I was trying to make.”

Harry chuckled, “Point taken, Riddle. I simply strive for equality and justice. For a world that judges you for your own merits, and where tradition and progress need not be enemies.”   

“Some might say that those are idealistic goals to have,” Tom said before he could bite his tongue. 

Harry gave a small, sardonic laugh at that and leaned back into his chair. “There’s no need to be so kind, Riddle. Unrealistic is what most people would call it, but I believe that I can prove them wrong. I won’t allow general opinion to stand in the way of my ambitions.”

Tom nodded his head, able to respect and empathise with such sentiment. 

He took a moment to mull over Peverell’s previous statement and frowned. “Does your pursuit for equality draw a line at magical people and creatures or does it also extend towards the muggles?” 

Harry hesitated for a moment before coming to the conclusion that sharing his beliefs with Tom could hardly be construed as involving him in his plans.

“I believe that the muggles are invaluable to us,” he admitted, not looking away from Tom as he said this, “But I also believe that it is imperative that we ensure that the Statute of Secrecy is upheld.”

“You do?” Tom asked him dubiously. “Aren’t you somewhat contradicting yourself? You don’t want them to know about us yet you claim to find them invaluable to our existence.” 

“Precisely,” Harry agreed, earning himself an irritated scowl from the younger boy. 

“I see that our tutoring session is going to go brilliantly,” came Tom’s sarcastic reply. 

“It’s simple, really,” Peverell said, and while Tom wanted desperately to comment otherwise, he kept his mouth shut and listened. “Sure, it took the muggles about two hundred thousand years, but they finally managed to invent electricity. In 1879, Thomas Edison continued exploring Franklin’s research and managed to make the first ever light bulb. Since then, their evolution has been rapidly picking up. Just look at the firearms they use. In 1892 they introduced automatic handguns. Now they have nuclear weapons, bombs that could destroy whole countries. These are not threats to joke about or take lightly,” he explained solemnly. 

Tom tried to hide away the haunting look that crept over his face, but Harry saw the shadows that crossed over his beautiful grey eyes. 

“I know,” Tom whispered, still looking away from him. His mind was back at the orphanage, with sirens blaring loudly in his ears, warning everyone of the impending bombing and the devastating destruction they brought along with them.  

“Then you can understand why they must never find out that we exist. While I do believe that we need muggles, we simply cannot trust them not to turn on us should they ever find out about our existence. The number of muggles willing to understand and accept us would be far outweighed by those too afraid of what they cannot understand. The unknown breeds fear, and fear leads to addled minds and unnecessary violence.” 

Peverell was right. Muggles could never be given the chance to break war against them. They would destroy too much with their abominable inventions. 

“Yet you say we need them,” Tom said, hoping that he would elaborate and move on from the subject of muggle war. 

“What we need is fresh blood to be combined into our bloodlines. Since the witch hunts, wizards and witches have been wary of mingling with the muggles, not that they can be blamed. But because of our separation from them, our numbers have been steadily dwindling," he explained. "Talents that used to be the reason for a house’s pride no longer appeared. The number of squibs has been increasing, and I don’t even want to start discussing the general population in terms of magical strength,” Harry scoffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“What you’re saying is that because the majority of the wizarding world is inbred, we’ve become stagnant.” It wasn’t that Tom disagreed with him, on the contrary. It was simply highly unusual for a pureblood of his standing to openly comment about such things. But then again, none of the other purebloods strived for equality. 

“Precisely,” Harry agreed with a self-satisfied grin. It was sort of adorable. “Do you disagree?” he asked him, leaning forward in his chair. 

“I don’t,” he admitted reluctantly. “But we now come full circle back to your contradiction,” Tom noted with a smirk on his face. 

Harry shook his head still grinning. 

Tom perked a questioning eyebrow and waited patiently for the reveal. 

“Just because we need to enforce the Statute of Secrecy, doesn’t mean that wizards and witches shouldn’t integrate themselves into the muggle world. It’s our ignorance of the muggle world that puts us in danger. If we are better educated and able to blend in with them, it wouldn’t be so hard to go out into their world and meet a beautiful and supportive muggle woman or man to settle down with and have a family. Those willing to enter our world simply need to be ready to abide by our laws and learn our traditions. It’s not all that different from following the customs of your host country while being a guest on foreign land. Why shouldn’t those accepting of us be given the opportunity to behold all the wonders of our magical world? Those unaccepting are easily dealt with if the regulations concerning such matters are revised and better enforced.”

Tom’s face remained cool and impassive while he catalogued all the new information that was being offered to him.

“You are essentially planning to alter twelve generations’ worth of conditioned thinking.” Tom sounded moderately impressed. 

Harry hummed and chuckled. “Yes, that sums it up neatly, Riddle.” 

“That also sounds like more than just one legislation you’ll be working on.”

Harry blinked at that statement and cursed himself internally, realising that he might have said more than he had initially intended to. 

Deciding that they had discussed enough of his views, Harry quickly changed the subject. “You’re right, and it’s all so very boring. Tell me about that EE you got. Do you have the essay with you?” 

Tom didn’t understand what had prompted Peverell to suddenly retreat back into himself and change the subject but decided to let it slide, having gotten more than enough information to dissect later on. 

Tom couldn’t help but notice that, as Peverell settled into his company, he seemed far friendlier than their previous interaction. 

Maybe all of Tom’s worries had been for naught. 

Tom handed Peverell his purposely inadequately written essay, trying to contain the distasteful sneer that fought against his thin-pressed lips. He really hated having to show even the slightest bit of incompetence, yet here he was, asking for tutoring lessons from the man he was trying to woo. 

He honestly had no idea what he had been thinking when he decided to go along with this plan his sleep-deprived mind had come up with. 

The following hour was spent with Peverell explaining the many different shielding charms and spells used to defend oneself in various situations. He hated to admit it, but there had been a few facts that he hadn’t thought about and found that he was actually learning some things from Peverell.    

Hadrian Peverell was a complete enigma. He believed in freedom and evolution, yet had a healthy respect for the muggles, enough to not let it blind him from the threat that they could pose. 

He spoke with passion and conviction, but his words weren’t just beautiful and empty. He presented arguments that had several valid points to them, backed by undeniable truths that would drive even the most hard-headed wizard to deep contemplation. 

These goals Peverell has set out for himself seem to be intimately entwined with his own. But what about his views on the Dark Arts? Were they also of similar mind on the matter? Could it be possible that they were more alike than he could have ever hoped for?

“I think we can wrap it up for today, Riddle. Did Professor Merrythought give you a date when to hand in the essay?” He asked him, shuffling through the parchment he had used to scribble his explanation on. 

“Yes, she did,” he said absent-minded, still lost in thought. 

“And?” Peverell prompted him with a poke to his arm, jarring him from his thoughts. 

“Tomorrow. I have to give it in tomorrow,” he said, drawing a wide-eyed look from Peverell. 

“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you say anything when we agreed to meet today?”

“It didn’t sound like you had much time for me otherwise,” Tom reminded him, nodding in thanks when Peverell handed him his notes for referral. 

“Right, I apologise if I was rude or anything,” Harry winced, looking away from the beautiful boy.   

“You weren’t,” he reassured him with a charming smile. He was more than willing to forget about their disastrous first meeting.  

Then suddenly Black appeared from behind the towering shelves. 

“I’m famished,” Orion groaned, dropping ungracefully into the available chair next to Hadrian while pushing a large pile of parchment towards him. “And I still need to go to the owlery before dinner,” he moaned, dropping his forehead onto the table. 

“That, my dear friend, is called tough luck,” Harry teased him with a friendly pat on his back. He took the offered parchment and browsed through the list Orion had so generously made for him. 

“Does that mean you’re not going to escort me?” he asked him with a wobbly pout. “After all this hard work I did for you?” 

“Apologies, Orion. But I already promised young Riddle here that I would escort him to the great hall for dinner,” he told him with a noticeably fake apologetic smile. 

Peverell had done no such thing, but Tom wasn’t about to complain about his extended company. 

“You’re a rotten friend, Peverell,” Orion informed him nasally. 

“I hold deep affection towards you, as well, Orion dear,” Harry mumbled distractedly, his eyes still looking through the long list Orion compiled for him. “Good work,” he looked up to say but noticed that Orion was already walking away in a huff. 

“Your friend seems to already have taken his leave,” Tom pointed out uselessly with an amused smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Yes, he gets that way when he’s hungry,” Harry explained with a shrug while gathering his belongings. “Speaking of, shall we head to dinner? I’m starting to feel famished myself,” he admitted, rubbing his growling stomach. 

“Is that why you lied to Black?” Tom asked as he got up and followed after him. 

“No, that was because I didn’t feel like spending the next half-hour listening to him moon over his betrothed,” he confessed sheepishly, a boyish grin gracing his lips while he rubbed the back of his neck.

Tom felt somewhat disappointed at the confession but didn’t let it show. So what if Peverell hadn’t lied just to spend more time with him? The result was the same, so he would enjoy it as such.  

After a few moments of comfortable silence passing between them, Tom turned to look at him with that angelic face of his. “Thank you, Peverell. For taking the time to tutor me this evening. Your help has been greatly appreciated,” he told him, daring to reach out and touch the older boy’s arm. 

Warmth spread along his fingers where he touched him, and Tom had to restrain himself from reacting to the soothing feeling. 

Harry, much the same, was trying to ignore the warm shivers he got from Tom’s gentle touch. 

Trying very hard not to look down and stare at the appendage that was touching him, Harry gulped silently before answering. “It was no problem,” he smiled before quickly looking away from the tempting boy, because that’s what he still was - a boy.

As mature and grown-up as he liked to think he was, Tom was nothing but a lost boy in dire need of some guidance. 

He wouldn’t allow his physical attraction towards him to derail any improvement he managed to make with him. 

This time it couldn’t be about how good they made each other feel in bed. Before Harry was anywhere near ready to venture down that road he needed to feel secure in their relationship—whatever type of relationship they may have. 

Also, the fact that Tom was still only fourteen made him feel like a dirty paedophile, even if he knew very well that he’d never think about any other  _ young adolescents _ that way. 

Tom… damn it. Tom was just Tom. He’d always be able to make Harry’s heart beat frantically in his chest. It was the curse of love. 

“I think that next time we should focus more on the practical side of the shields. Knowing about them is all well and good, but when it matters you need to be able to produce the shield you want to protect yourself with.”

Tom bristle slightly at the implication that he wasn’t able to produce a simple shield charm and dropped his hand from Peverell’s shoulder as if burned. 

“I already know how to cast a Protego,”  _ thank you very much _ , he continued silently with his eyes and the way he pulled on the strap of his bag. 

Harry threw him a disappointed frown. “And that’s the only shield we’ve discussed today?” he asked expectantly. 

“No, but all the others aren’t taught until our fifth or sixth year. Not to mention the Patronus has been completely removed from our curriculum,” Tom pointed out. 

“Do you remember me mentioning that most of the inhabitants of the wizarding world are powerless buffoons?” Harry asked him.  

Well, he hadn’t said it in those words exactly, but something along those lines. He couldn’t see how that was relevant to-

“Do you consider yourself to be one of those powerless buffoons, Riddle?”  he asked him with a raised brow. 

Right. That’s how it was relevant. 

“I don’t,” he told him firmly, turning hard grey eyes to glare at him.

“I didn’t think so,” Harry agreed. “So why should you hold yourself to a timetable set for those less capable?” he asked him rhetorically, not expecting him to answer. But when did Tom ever do as he expected? 

“I don’t. I’m further ahead than any of my classmates in all of my subjects. Just because I said that they aren’t taught until our fifth or sixth year doesn’t mean that I haven’t already mastered them,” Tom couldn’t help but brag, needing the older boy to see that he wasn’t just some fourth-year imbecile that couldn’t keep up with him.  

Harry bit his cheek to keep from grinning foolishly at the adorable boy that was trying to impress him. “Does the Patronus Charm make the list of your accomplishments?” Harry asked, stopping to lean against the wall. Once they rounded the corner they would arrive at their destination and Harry didn’t fancy being stuck talking to one of Tom’s lackeys, especially not Abraxas Malfoy. Harry had to forcibly stop himself from shuddering at the thought. 

Tom’s self-assured smile dimmed at Harry’s question, but he didn’t look away from his challenging emerald eyes. 

“No, but that’s hardly something to be ashamed of. Most grown wizards aren’t able to produce a corporeal Patronus,” he argued, defensively crossing his arms over his chest.  

“Now wait a moment. I never said anything about feeling ashamed. There is no shame in not being able to do something—anything. All I’m offering is my help, if you want it, feel free to take it,” he told the cross looking boy that looked about ready to hex him. 

“Of course,  _ you _ can produce a corporeal Patronus,” Tom mumbled enviously under his breath. 

He would pay a pretty penny for someone to find something the wizard wasn’t good at. “I have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me that I don’t want to know how old you were when you first managed to produce one,” he grumbled, but for some reason found himself unable to stay upset with the man and gave him a hesitant smile. 

“Follow that gut feeling, Riddle. It will take you places,” he joked with a huge smile on his face.

Harry couldn’t believe it! This was all turning out better than he expected. They were actually joking around. Joking around! And teasing each other! 

Merlin, how much he’d missed Tom. 

“I’ll take it then; your help, that is,” he clarified when Harry gave him a confused look. Harry’s face instantly lit up, and Tom thought that there was no way such an expression could be faked. 

Butterflies started fluttering in his chest, and the longer he looked at the beautiful dark-haired wizard, the larger the butterflies grew. 

Before they could exchange any more words Peverell’s eyes wandered over his shoulder and suddenly grew large and dismayed. 

“Abraxas,” he breathed in a horrified whisper.

“Excuse me?” Tom asked, not sure he’d hear right, but then he heard Malfoy call his name from a short distance away. “I take it you’re not very friendly with our resident Malfoy,” Tom chuckled, more relieved than he cared to admit to seeing that Peverell wasn’t in the least bit interested in Malfoy.

“He’s an alright bloke, you know… when you’re not his current love interest,” he whispered before straightening out with a friendly smile forced onto his face. Now that Tom had something to compare to that smile, he could easily see how forced it was. Nothing at all like the beaming smile he had not two minutes before. 

“Malfoy, a pleasure to see you this evening,” Peverell greeted charmingly, gaining himself a small, inconspicuous glare from Tom. 

‘Well, if one doesn’t want to be found attractive, they shouldn’t act so damned charming,’ thought Tom.

“The pleasure is all mine, Peverell,” ‘Braxas smirked in what he probably thought was a seductive and appealing way. Tom thought that he failed terribly, and looking at Harry’s pinched face, he’d have to say that the man agreed with him. “Evening, Tom,” Malfoy nodded vaguely in his direction, barely acknowledging him and never taking his eyes off Peverell. 

After a moment of awkward silence, Harry decided that it was time to extract himself from the situation. 

“Right then, gentlemen,” Harry said, pushing himself off the wall. “I’ve got some roast pork and sweet potatoes calling my name. Same time next week, Riddle?” he asked as he straightened out the strap of his bag. 

“Tom. Call me Tom,” he repeated shyly when Peverell turned around to give him an infectious grin. “We’re friends now, are we not?” he asked, almost hesitantly. 

“Sure we’re friends,” Harry smiled. “You call me Hadrian then,” he insisted. “See you later,  _ Tom _ ,” he smirked, sending him a mischievous wink. Tom almost sighed at the way his deep velvety voice sounded his name. “Malfoy,” he said in parting, before turning the corner and moving out of sight.

“I thought you didn’t need friends, Tom,” Malfoy said to him, sounding perplexed and jealous all at the same time. If he was jealous of him or Peverell, Tom wasn’t entirely sure. 

“I don’t, but I am willing to make an exception for Peverell,” he admitted, mostly to see what Abraxas would say. 

He wasn’t disappointed. Abraxas opened and closed his mouth several times, his face growing redder each time he repeated the action. It was very comical, Tom thought. At least it would be if he were able to draw amusement from such matters.  

“Does that-” he started but thought to reword his question. “Do you want...” he struggled again, finally drawing out the last bit of Tom’s patience. 

“Will you just spit it out already, ‘Braxas?” he snapped, having grown more than irritated with him. 

“Do you fancy Peverell?” he practically spat before he could stop himself.  

Tom sneered at his lack of restraint but decided that this was the best opportunity to shut down Malfoy’s advances on Peverell. “Not that it would be any of your business, but no, I don’t currently have an interest in  _ Hadrian  _ beyond friendship. But I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea if such an opportunity were to present itself,” he said, before making his own way towards the great hall. 

Roast pork and sweet potatoes did sound very good. It didn’t matter that he didn’t usually like sweet potatoes, he was sure that some gravy would solve the small issue nicely.   
  


* * *

 

 

Harry was lounging in his usual spot on top of the roof of the Astronomy tower, unable to tear the stupid grin from his face. Even Dumbledore had commented on his unusually upbeat mood during their meeting that evening.

“Today turned out to be quite productive,” came Death’s neutral voice from next to him, scaring him seven ways into the next century. 

Well, maybe not quite, but he  _ had  _ startled him. 

“I really need to put a fucking bell on you,” he growled, his good mood instantly diminishing. 

“Don’t act like such a pussy, Potter.” 

“It’s Peverell, now,” Harry reminded him. It was better not to mix these things around too much.

“To me, you’ll never stop being that lost little shit that couldn’t figure out why he’d stopped aging,” Death shrugged, sitting down in the open space next to Harry. 

“Need I remind you that you took your sweet time introducing yourself to me?” Harry smirked, enjoying this little trip down memory lane. “How was I supposed to know that simply using all three objects in the same evening would automatically make me immortal?” 

Those were the simple days. Back when had just defeated the Darkest wizard of all time and thought that he finally had a chance at a normal life. 

Life had been going really well. He was married, thinking about having children and building a future. The only worry he had back then was the fact that he didn’t look a day over seventeen. He’d convinced himself that it was nothing, wizards aged differently, right? Completely disregarding the fact that everyone around him seemed to be ageing normally. 

He’d been very wrong indeed. 

But he only realised that when Death came swooping into his life. Harry was not ashamed to admit that he fainted when Death visited him for the first time.

“Five years, if memory serves,” Death commented lightly.

“Five years,” Harry agreed. 

Yes, Death had allowed him five years of peace before letting him know that life would never be the same for him again. 

And it wasn’t. His wife and friends grew older while he stayed the same, growing only more powerful with each passing year. 

He had left Ginny when he was twenty-six years old, allowing her to find someone she could grow old with. At that point in his life, it had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he had done it. 

He had watched his friends have families, live their lives, and grow old. He had gone to each one of their funerals with tears streaming down his cheeks, until the last one. 

His Teddy’s funeral was the last he could take before he and Death started wandering through different time periods, educating himself in whatever branch of magic caught his fancy. He had even dabbled in various different trades, ever expanding his set of skills. 

Over the centuries there was no subject he’d left untouched, and it would seem as if the world had nothing new to offer him, yet funnily enough, each day he seemed to be learning something new anyway. 

“All joking aside, it did seem like a most productive day,” Death repeated, and Harry knew that he was smiling softly under that dark hood of his. That big old teddy bear.

“It was,” he nodded, leaning back and stretching his hands under his head so that he could comfortably look up at the stars. “Orion is a surprisingly good researcher, you know, for being a total spaz. It also seems like I’m finally getting through to Dumbledore.”

“Yes, and last, but not least important; Tom Riddle is absolutely smitten with Hadrian Peverell,” Death teased, bumping his knee into Harry’s.  

“Shuddup,” he mumbled, blushing, but couldn’t help but smile goofily up at the stars. “He is, isn’t he?” he asked him, glancing at him bashfully from the side of his eye. 

Death snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“He was different. I don’t know how to explain it,” Harry told him dreamily.

“Three years do make a difference, Harry. And remember that you’ve never met a Tom that hadn’t already made a Horcrux,” Death pointed out.

And this time around Tom wouldn’t get to make his first one, not if Harry had anything to say about it. 

Immortality was a gift that he would gladly give him. Alchemy was one of his best subjects, not that there were any subjects that he was particularly bad at. Immortality was something he could give him, but only if Tom chose the right path for himself. 

“If this all goes south I’m still blaming you,” Harry warned him.

“What happened to the positive little boy that I took under my wing?”

“He spent way too much time with you,” Harry deadpanned before turning around to grin at his friend. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was about two in the morning when Harry made his way back to the dungeons. “Boomslang,” he said through a yawn, tiredly stretching his hands over his head.

The portrait hole opened for him and he quickly made his way in, enjoying the immediate change in temperature he felt. He was going to head straight to his dorm room when he noticed that there was a figure hunched over on the plush black loveseat next to the fireplace, furiously scribbling away on a roll of parchment.

It didn’t take him long to realise that it was Tom sitting there, his beautiful face being lit up by the warm light of the fireplace.  

“Riddle?” he called out gently as to not startle him. Tom looked up at him with tired and blurred eyes, cutely rubbing away the sleep from his eyes. “What are you doing up at this late hour?” he asked him, moving closer. 

“Peverell? I could ask you the same thing. And didn’t we already agree that it’s Tom?” he asked him with a small, tired smirk. 

“We did,” he agreed. “And I’m awake because I’m a bit of an insomniac. Wandering around the castle halls at night helps me clear my mind enough to fall asleep for a few hours,” he admitted. “Do you mind?” he asked gesturing towards the empty place next to him. 

Tom shook his head. “Not at all,” he said, shuffling to the side to make some more space for him. 

“Cheers, Tom,” he said before lowering himself to the loveseat. “So, what are you doing up?” he asked again, giving the parchment in Tom’s hands a curious look. 

“I was working on my DADA essay, but it’s almost done. I’ve just got to finish it up,” he said, dipping his quill into the ink bottle that was resting on top of the coffee table. 

“I’m beginning to see that you don’t mess about when it comes to your education, do you, Tom?” he chuckled amusedly. 

Tom threw him a look that let him know how stupid he thought that question was, before lowering his head back to his essay with a concentrated look on his face. 

“Well, since I’m here I might as well have a look at it before you hand it in tomorrow,” Harry offered.

“In a minute,” he told him distractedly, and Harry just allowed himself to watch the younger boy as he worked.  

True enough, one minute later Tom put his quill down and started looking over his finished work, looking pleased with the end result. “Here,” he said, handing him the still drying parchment. 

Harry took the offered essay and carefully read over each elegantly written word. He couldn’t help but feel astonished at the way the fourteen-year-old was able to articulate himself. He was also surprised that he had actually bothered to use the notes he had made for him earlier. Tidbits of information he had offered him, voluntarily twined with Tom’s own words. For some reason that had his throat drying and his chest constricting. 

He cleared his throat and gave him an impressed tilt of the head. “If Professor Merrythought doesn’t give you an O, I’ll go file a complaint myself,” he told him in a small show of praise. 

“Thanks, again, for helping me,” Tom told him, for once not finding it hard to say the words and actually mean them. 

“Don’t mention it, kid,” Harry waved off only to recoil at the venomous glare Tom send his way.

“Is that really what you see me as? Some little kid?” Tom asked him before he could stop the words from spilling from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry rushed to apologise, stretching out both of his open palms in a show of peace. “I should have known that you would find such a term of endearment derogatory.”

“So you do see me as a kid,” Tom mumbled, closing off his expression. 

“Tom, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a kid. You’re fourteen! You have your whole life ahead of you. Enjoy your last few years of adolescence, because you’ll have more than plenty of time to be an adult,” he promised, trying to rectify the damage he had done with one obtuse comment. 

“What if I don’t? What if I don’t have my whole life ahead of me? You said it yourself, the bombs the muggles are using in their war are horrible. Being a parentless child means that I’m stuck in that awful muggle orphanage right in the middle of the war zone. What if next summer I don’t make it out? Or the summer after that? What if right now is all I have?” he asked him, desperate for answers he knew that Hadrian couldn’t give him.

‘Merlin, he must be really tired if he’s sharing this with me,’ thought Harry wearily. 

“Would you believe me if I said I know otherwise?” Harry asked him quietly, not looking away from those frightened grey eyes. Wanting desperately to reach out and comfort him, but he couldn’t. Not yet.  

Tom frowned at his question, searching his bright green eyes for any sign of deceit, but found none. 

“Are you a seer?” he asked him, clearly wary of his own theory. 

Hadrian chuckled and shook his head. 

“Then how would you know something like that if you can’t predict the future?” Tom challenged.

“Magic,” he told him simply with a wicked smirk, drawing a small smile out of Tom. 

“That hardly explains anything at all,” 

“Or maybe it explains everything,” Harry countered with a shrug. “I promise that one day you’ll know what I’m talking about, but for now you’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

“Take your word for it?” Tom repeated incredulously. 

“Yes, you know. Trust me,” Harry said cheekily. 

Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re really something else, Peverell.”

“Hadrian,” he corrected. “We’re friends now, remember?” he teased.

“As a friend, can I ask you something, Hadrian?” he asked, testing how the name sounded on his lips. He had to admit that it sent a very pleasant and warm feeling through him. 

When Hadrian nodded his consent, he bit the corner of his lips, wondering if maybe he should have left well enough alone, but decided to brave the question that had been plaguing him since the last Saturday. 

“Why didn’t you like me when we first met?” 

“Excuse me?” Harry squeaked a pitch too high, taken aback by this turn in questioning. 

“I got the impression that you felt uncomfortable in my company,” Tom explained, not beating around the bush. 

Harry blinked at him, completely at a loss at what to tell him. He hadn’t realised that he had failed so miserably at concealing what he felt. He’d been aiming for mild indifference, not dislike. 

“You reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago,” he found himself admitting, and that was the truth. This Tom standing in front of him was two Horcruxes away from his Tom. They weren’t the same person.

“Oh?” Tom asked him surprised, not expecting that answer.  

“Yes,” Harry replied giving him a weary smile. “In some ways, you two are exactly the same, and at the same time completely different.”  

“He hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. Tom could easily see it in the way his beautiful eyes had dimmed. It was as if a bright star had been extinguished, leaving them to drown in darkness. He hadn’t realised how drawn he was to that light until it was gone. 

“He did,” choked Harry. “But where he is he won’t ever hurt me again,” he reassured him, trying to muster the best smile he could while faced with the image of his nightmares.

Tom’s features were too soft, gentle in a way that he had never seen before. It was too much for him and he had to look away. 

Tom wanted to ask him more about this person. Wanted to find out his location and destroy him with his bare hands. This sudden surge of protectiveness took him by surprise, but he was too far gone to question it. 

He opened his mouth to ask his questions, but one look at Hadrian's stoic face made him change his mind. Another time. There would be time for such questions. 

“I think I’m going to head up and have a little kip,” Harry said, rubbing his knees before getting up. “Goodnight, Tom,” he waved. 

“Night, Hadrian,” he called after his retreating back, slumping back into the loveseat. 

There was only one thing Tom knew for sure, and that was that Hadrian Peverell was going to turn his whole world around. 

Yes, he felt a healthy amount of anxiety towards the oncoming change, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything about it.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers. I'd like to apologise for taking a while to upload the chapter, but it's finally here ^^ I hope you've enjoyed it.
> 
> I also wanted to thank everyone who has taken an interest in the story, and for all the comments and kudos. You're all really amazing!


	6. Chapter 6

**November 20th, 1941**

 

Harry hadn’t always loved Tom, despite what a certain celestial being might suggest to the contrary. There had indeed been a time when all  he  felt for Tom Riddle was a well-deserved amount of hatred and contempt, completely devoid of any warm and  illogical feelings, besides, perhaps, an almost minuscule yet still uncomfortable prick of pity.  

Things had been simple then, when he’d hated Tom and had been able to unflinchingly plot his demise. Because that had been Harry’s ultimate objective when he’d travelled to 1944 over four centuries ago— dispose of Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

Harry hadn’t done it out of any sense of righteousness as he might have first led himself to believe. Had his intentions really been so noble , he’d have simply removed Merope from the equation and spared Tom Sr all the months of rape and years of trauma he’d had to  endure . 

No, the spontaneous trip through time had been prompted by the fact that he’d been feeling hollow and so inexplicably bored with  _ everything _ .  

He’d been going through an existential crisis of sorts for quite a few years. He’d even given up the magical world for a while there and met a young muggle man he fancied himself in love with. 

_ Merlin _ , he’d been a right fool. 

It’s almost unnecessary to mention that the relationship hadn’t lasted very long. The man died, as all living things besides himself tend ed to do, and he’d felt  _ nothing _ .

But that wasn’t quite true, because Harry had felt relief—sweet relief at the knowledge that he could finally drop the charade. 

And wasn’t he just the cruellest of monsters? 

He’d felt no grief over the death of the man he’d spent the previous couple of years pretend ing to love, and he couldn’t even muster any sincere amount of guilt regarding his lack of…  lamentation. The truth had left him thoroughly shaken and feeling more lost than ever before. 

He hadn’t mentioned any of this to Death, of course.  Harry couldn’t possibly give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d been right all along. The gloating that would have followed would have been unbearable. 

Once Harry had accepted the situation for what it was, he’d been desperate, so utterly desperate to feel something _ —anything at all. _

He’d wanted out of the monotony he was trapped in—out of the cage he’d foolishly lured himself into.

Then, the solution to his plight had come to him in the form of a stray image in his head—the disfigured visage of Lord Voldemort. It had truly sprung onto him out of nowhere, as he hadn’t spared the monster a single thought in some decades. But in hindsight, it was obvious that his subconscious would feed him that  _ specific  _ image when he’d been so dolorous and filled to the brim with the need to  _ feel _ . 

The hatred he’d felt for the snake-faced beast that had tormented him throughout his early youth had remained unmatched, even after all those years. None had ever come close to making his blood boil in the same way the Dark Lord  had . 

He’d never been proud of it, but even after he vanquished Lord Voldemort, he hadn’t been able to quench his loathing and need for vengeance. He’d always thought that once Voldemort was dead, he’d be free, but instead, he felt unsatisfied and filled with unresolved rage.

His loathing for the man was so powerful and violent that , if left unchecked, outmeasured any and all other emotions he’s ever felt. Yes, feeling  _ hatred  _ was much better than the senseless cycle of numbness he’d found himself stuck in. And so the game had begun, and off in search of Tom Marvolo Riddle he went. 

Not that, at the time, he’d allowed himself to realise his true intentions. Back then, this unwavering truth had been masked under a heavy layer of denial.

True intentions aside, what Harry had failed to take into account was the fact that he’d actually have it in himself to feel  _ attracted  _ towards the heinous monster. 

Harry had forgotten just how  _ twisted  _ he’d become. Forgotten that he was aeons  old and a jaded, immortal soul removed from the Gryffindor Golden Boy he once was. Forgotten that the face he donned and the memories he carried with him were all that remained of that boy. 

Sure, when the seed had first been planted in the form of a wicked dream, he’d fought against it and  retreated into himself, hiding like a coward behind his mental shields. It had taken him a while to break through the numbness and denial, but when he did, he’d welcomed the wrongness that washed over him with open arms.

It had been such a profane concept, bedding the murderer of his parents—bedding the man he’d once murdered himself. So wrong, wrong,  _ wrong _ . But, oh  _ Merlin _ , the way his body had responded to the dream... He hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d felt so aroused. 

‘ _ Sweet Mordred and Morgana, save my soul _ ’, he thought when the delicious shame had seared through him, leaving him breathless and  craving for  _ more _ . It had been even more exhilarating than the anger and hatred he’d felt towards Voldemort, and for the first time in decades, Harry had felt truly alive. 

 

  
_ It was around the second week of October, six weeks into the new school term, that found Harry Stevenson standing in the empty clearing where he’d once sat with Sirius Black after the whole ordeal in the Shrieking Shack.  _

_ The whomping willow was years away from being planted, but when Harry wasn’t lost in his own mind, he could vividly picture its thick branches and strong roots. Could almost feel the rough bark under his touch.   _

_ He stood with his back to the castle, his emerald eyes bright amidst the absolute darkness of the night—watchful but unseeing. Thick rain was pelting down heavily around him, but he just stood still, allowing the rain to soak through all of his clothes. He didn’t feel cold, didn't even notice his soaked clothes or the frosty wind that was billowing around him. He felt numb to the world, his mind swallowed by a never-ending dark tunnel.  _

_ He had no motivation to leave the soothing darkness, didn’t wish to escape its secure confines because it was simple here behind his defences. No feelings, no thoughts, and no complications _ _. There was  _ _ only protective darkness keeping away all his unwanted demons.  _

_ Lightning struck not far from where he stood, for a brief moment flashing light upon his surroundings, but his open emerald eyes were left unseeing. Seconds later thunder roared loudly as if vying for his attention, but he didn’t even flinch  _ _ or _ _ register the ringing in his ears. _

_ He was still in the tunnel, feeling unafraid and unconcerned with his whereabouts. He was contentedly standing amidst the darkness when the faintest of whispers reached his ears. At first, it was unintelligible and easy to ignore, but as the whispering kept on persisting it began to grow louder. _

_ “Harry,” it said, but he walked away from the intrusion, deeper into the tunnel, trying to escape the incessant whispering breaking his peace. But it didn’t matter how far he walked, the whispering followed him until it grew too loud to ignore.  _

_ “Harry!” the voice boomed one last time with such ferocity that it shattered the tunnel walls around him. Then Harry felt a presence behind him, felt it tug him out of the depths of his mind, and suddenly he was left standing in the empty clearing  _ _ where _ _ nothing was simple anymore.  _

_ “It took you long enough,” Death seethed next to him, but Harry didn’t notice, too lost in the onslaught of horrifying images and thoughts he’d been trying to escape from.  _

_ “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to break through your defences?” Death asked him, voice tight _ _ ,  _ _ alight with worry and fury. “What were you thinking? Were you purposefully trying to get lost in there?” Honestly, the man never learned!  _

_ Harry just looked at him blankly and simply stood there, unresponsive.  _

_ Death invaded Harry’s personal space, his intimidating form almost pressed up against him and stared him down, but his friend’s striking eyes remained detached.  _

_ “Damn it, Harry,” he bit out. “Would you be so kind and snap out of whatever the fuck this is long enough to explain to me what the hell happened?” Death demanded, inches away from Harry’s face.  _

_ When Harry remained unresponsive Death _ _ ’s _ _ worry grew, and if there was one thing he absolutely abhorred it was the pesky constricting feeling in his chest that the worry brought along with it. Unfortunately, since his acquaintanceship with Harry started, worry ha _ _ d _ _ been a steady companion of his; along with exasperation, exhaustion _ _ , _ _ and fury.  _

_ Sighing, Death tilted his hooded head to the side and started seriously debating with himself whether a punch to the face would jar Harry out of whatever stupor he was in. As he  _ _ was _ _ about to come to a decision, Harry finally cocked his head back and faced  _ _ Death _ _ with a vacant expression fixed on his face, his eyes all but dead.  _

_ For a few moments, Harry stared at him with those lifeless eyes of his saying nothing at all, and if Death hadn’t known any better he would have thought that his soul had vacated his body. But he did know better and the alternative didn’t look very pleasing.  _

_ Death noticed Harry’s lips twitch as if he were trying to suppress a grin, then he pressed them tightly together into a thin line. His dead eyes became alive, gaining a crazed glint to them that sent a foreboding shiver down Death’s spine. In that split second he knew that something had changed… something irreversible.  _

_ He watched as Harry’s chest heaved with a few shuddering breaths and then his face twisted in a way that he wasn’t sure  _ _ meant that  _ _ Harry was trying to contain his laughter, or trying not to spill the contents of his stomach, so he took a few cautious steps back just in case it was the latter.  _

_ Needless to say, Death was beyond confused at this intense display of uncontrolled human emotion. He assumed that Harry might be going through what the mortals liked to label as a ‘mental breakdown’ and he wasn’t quite sure how to help his friend with his newly acquired mental affliction.  _

_ His attention was drawn back to Harry when some cackles managed to pass through his tightly pressed lips, which were then quickly followed by a long, pained, whine that would have broken a demon’s heart. Then, to Death’s complete horror, Harry’s shoulders started shaking! He thought that he’d been about to start sobbing, that is, until he heard Harry burst into loud, insane, mirthless laughter.  _

_ Death stared at his friend _ _ , _ _ completely bewildered _ _ , then _ _ took another two instinctive steps away from him. _

_ Harry was clutching his sides, his back hunched over and gasping for breath, unable to control his mad laughter. Death couldn’t be sure, what with the heavy rain, but he thought he saw tears running down Harry’s cheeks before  _ _ being washed away by the deluge _ _.  _

_ “M-Morgana, I’ve lost m-my mind,” Harry managed to gasp out through bouts of cackles, sounding entirely too pleased with that conclusion. Not that Death could say he disagreed, especially not when his friend was still shaking with uncontrollable mirth and sobs. _

_ Suddenly, Harry straightened his back and tried to shake his head clear. “You will never-” he tried to say before he broke off snickering again, the kind of snickering that sent a shiver of ice-cold dread through Death.  _

_ Death raised a brow behind his hood and waited patiently while Harry attempted to compose himself. Hopefully, it would happen before he started growing roots.  _

_ Harry closed his eyes and pushed his wet hair away from his face, finally noticing the storm he was standing in. He cleared his throat before he exhaustedly dropped to the muddy ground with his elbows resting on his bent knees, and his face shamefully buried in his hands.  _

_ “Merlin,” he croaked, inhaling a deep breath of much-needed air. “I think I’ve lost my mind,” he announced once again, in time with another dramatic strike of lightning. _

_ Death waited for the ear-splitting roar of thunder to pass before repeating his earlier question, only in a more gentle manner this time.  _

_ “What happened, Harry?”  _

_ Harry sighed despondently and tilted his head back, allowing the rain to hit his face. His eyes were searching for the stars  _ _ which _ _ always managed to ground him. But there were no stars in the sky  _ _ that night _ _ , only clouds and rain.  _

_ “I had a dream,” he confessed. “Nightmare, really,” he amended with a self-deprecating sneer.  _

_ When Harry didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate any further, Death was quick to press, “Do you want to tell me what it was about?” he asked cautiously, afraid that he  _ _ would  _ _ burst out in another bout of craziness.  _

_ “Not really,” Harry  _ _ admitted _ _ , his lips twisting into a humourless smirk. “We need to find me a good mind healer, yeah? First thing in the morning I’m going to go get permission from Slughorn to make a quick trip to St. Mungo _ _ ’s, _ _ because I’m telling you, Death, there is something seriously wrong with me,” he insisted, his green eyes wild and desperate.  _

_ A mind healer wasn’t the only healer he’d be needing if he stayed out in the cold  _ _ and rain _ _ for much longer. Death was about to say as much, but Harry decided that he wasn’t quite done talking yet.  _

_ “I mean, it’s sick. No way around it. I’m fucking sick,” he spat. “Why the fuck else would I dream about…?” he trailed off questioningly, sounding unbelievably confused and lost.  _

_ Death truly didn’t want to press his friend if he didn’t want to talk about it, but a half-assed explanation like that wasn’t exactly enlightening or comforting and aroused his curiosity to an almost unbearable measure. He was tempted to reach through their mental link, but he’d learned his lesson  _ _ about _ _ privacy a long time ago. He shuddered at the unpleasant memory and shook his head. No, trying to read his friend’s mind was a very bad idea.  _

_ “I’ve managed to betray the memory of everyone I’ve ever loved,” Harry moaned guiltily, putting his head in his hands again. This quickly caught Death’s attention. What on earth had the boy done this time?  _

_ “Why? Why the bloody fuck would I dream about….” he trailed off miserably.   _

_ Death was not losing his patience. He really wasn’t. His right eye was twitching because of other, unrelated, reasons.  _

_ “Why would I dream about shagging Riddle?” Harry finally managed to choke out, his complexion turning a sickly shade of green as he did so.   _

_ Death blinked, not quite sure that he’d heard him correctly—hoping that he hadn’t—but one look at Harry’s green eyes swimming in disgust and self-loathing washed away any doubts he could try to delude himself with.  _

_Okay._ _That_ _… It_ _was_ _… unexpected, he allowed himself to think, not wanting to dwell on the numerous other words he could use to describe_ _such an_ _…_ _unexpected situation._

_ To say that Death was stumped speechless would be the understatement of the millennia, and to be honest, he didn’t think there were any words in existence that would be able to offer Harry any comfort. _

_ “I know _ _ , _ _ right?” Harry chuckled. “Merlin, coming here was a mistake. I should never  _ _ have  _ _ tried to change shit. If- Fuck!” he screamed before throwing himself back onto the cold, muddy ground,  _ _ limbs spread-eagle _ _.  _

_ Death wasn’t sure what Harry was trying to accomplish. Did he think he would get hypothermia and die? He should know better, he c _ _ ouldn’t _ _ die. _

_Well, it wasn’t as if Harry was exactly thinking clearly, not that_ _Death_ _blamed him._ _A m_ _ind healer didn’t sound like a bad idea_ _._ _Y_ _ou know, just to be sure._

_ Death opened his mouth to say something—anything, but Harry cut him off before he could voice the first syllable.  _

_ “Don’t _ _.  _ _ There is absolutely nothing you can say to me right now,” he  _ _ growled _ _ , unknowingly echoing  _ _ Death’s _ _ earlier thoughts. “This situation is horrible enough without your smart-ass quips and sarcasm.” _

_ Death glared indignantly. He wasn’t that insensitive!  _

_ “I should head back to the castle. I don’t fancy seeing what happens when I’m struck by lightning,” Harry murmured. He got to his feet and frowned down at his mud-caked robes. With a flick of his wrist, his clothes were once again clean and dry, impervious to the storm. He pulled up the hood of his robes and started making his way back to the castle.  _

_ “Don’t follow me,” he warned Death with his back turned.  _

_ “Insolent brat,”  _ _ Death _ _ grumbled under his breath. “See if I try pulling you out of that stupid tunnel the next time you decide to take your conscience on a walkabout.” _

_ Harry ignored him and kept at his leisurely pace back to the castle, allowing the cold wind to clear his mind. Nothing was as sobering as the cutting winds of winter. _

_ So what if he had an erotic dream featuring Riddle in it? A dream was still just that, a dream. There was no deeper meaning behind it. Seventeen-year-old Riddle was very attractive _ _. Harry would _ _ have to be positively blind not to notice. He’d known that about Riddle before he came here. He’d known that he was beautiful, impossibly and unfairly so, but that did not mean his angelic face didn’t hide a demon beneath it.  _

_ It was only a dream, he tried to comfort himself again, and again, forcing himself deeper into denial.  _

_ Only a dream. No cause for panic, only some good therapy.  _

_ Harry was walking on auto-pilot as his thoughts ran rampant in his mind. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d entered the shelter and warmth of the castle walls. Had he noticed, he might have tried to sneak around better.     _

_ “Would you like to explain what you’re doing out at this hour, Stevenson?” The voice immediately stopped Harry in his tracks and made his eyes widen in horror at his devastating _ _ ly _ _ bad luck. “I know it’s you, Stevenson. Might as well drop the hood and face me,” Riddle challenged.  _

_ For a  _ _ moment, _ _ Harry debated on running. Riddle wouldn’t run after him, just inform Slughorn and give him a few extra detentions. But then he would seem like a coward, and that was simply unacceptable. _

_ “Just out for a midnight stroll, Riddle,” he said as he turned around and pushed back the hood, thankfully sounding much more confident and aloof than he actually felt.  _

_ “It’s past three in the morning, Stevenson,” Riddle corrected him oh-so-kindly.  _

_ So literal, Harry thought with a scoff _ _ , _ _ but then his eyebrows raised curiously. Patrolling didn’t go until this late, not even for the Head Boy.     _

_ “That just means you can’t give me detention, Riddle. Not without letting Slughorn know about your own rule-breaking,”  _ _ Harry _ _ smirked triumphantly before turning around to continue on his merry way, thinking that the crisis had been averted. There was no need for any further contact with Riddle, that is until he heard his graceful footsteps following him.  _

_ Why was  _ _ Riddle _ _ following him?  _

_ As if he’d read his thoughts, Riddle  _ _ explained _ _ , “Head Boy quarters are in the same direction, Stevenson.”  _

_ Right. That luck of his again. Dodge a bullet  _ _ just  _ _ to be faced with Fiendfyre kind of luck.  _

_ The silence between them was tense, and after the events of that night, Riddle’s proximity was unsettling and unwelcome. But what could he do short of apparating into his dorm room? Now that wouldn’t arouse any unwanted questions at all. _

_ Harry had been content to bear the distance back to their respective dorms in silence, but Riddle had other plans _ _ , it seemed _ _.  _

_ “What is it about me that you find so insulting, Stevenson?”  _

_ The question caught Harry by surprise and almost made him stumble in his steps, but he managed to regain his balance just in time not  _ _ to  _ _ make a fool of himself.  _

_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Riddle,” he shrugged. _

_ Tom rolled his eyes and tutted reprovingly. “It’s rather obvious, what with the way your lips always twist into a frown at the sight of me. Not to mention the way your eyes burn with judgment for just a moment before they dull back into a forced indifference.” _

_ The accusing tone he used didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, nor did it manage to hide Riddle’s genuine curiosity and frustration. _

_ “I think you’ve been reading too much into all  _ _ of  _ _ this. Just because I don’t mindlessly bow to your supposed greatness doesn’t mean that I find anything about you ‘insulting’, as you’ve put it.” _

_ To Harry’s surprise, Tom’s didn’t descend into a fit of madness for daring to question his greatness. Instead, he kept on smirking, grey eyes  _ _ glinting _ _ with amusement.  _

_ “You hide it very well, I’ll allow you that. But what you fail to notice is that when I’m in your line of sight your whole demeanour changes, Stevenson. The meek act you’ve so carefully constructed crumbles helplessly around you. Your slightly hunched shoulders straighten, your back arches defiantly, and your chin juts out proudly. And in place of the meek little mudblood you’ve been trying so hard to portray stands a beautiful warrior.”  _

_ At those last two complimenting words Harry stopped walking, not quite believing his ears.  _

_ Was Riddle- was he coming on to him? He couldn’t possibly.   _

_ Unfortunately, that moment of confounded daze gave Riddle the opportunity to further invade his personal space.  _

_ “Are you going to lie to me again, or will you tell the truth?” Tom breathed, inches away from Harry’s face.  _

_ ‘Are you going to lie to me again, or will you tell the truth?’ Those words… those exact words would be whispered to him again in much the same manner, but by a different man, in a different time. _

_ The scene morphed, and Harry was no longer standing in the middle of the cold dungeon corridors. Instead, he found himself in the Gryffindor dorm room surrounded by red and gold, roughly backed into the door by none other than Sirius Black.  _

_ “Sirius,” he sighed irritatedly _ _ , _ _ but allowed the shorter boy to pin his hands above his head.  _

_ “Well? What’s it going to be, Harry?” he pressed as he teasingly ground their hips together in a way he knew drove his lover mad.  _

_ Seeing the honey trap for what it was, Harry bit back a moan and stopped himself from grinding back into Sirius.  _

_ “I don’t understand why you have to keep pressing the issue, Black,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I thought we agreed that this wasn’t up for discussion.”  _

_ “Don’t be cross, darlin’,” Sirius pleaded softly, dropping a featherlight kiss onto his neck. “But you know perfectly well that I only agreed to drop it for the time being. I’ve been an amazingly attentive, understanding, and supportive boyfriend-”  _

_ “There’s no need to be so modest, love,” Harry interrupted with an incredulous scoff.  _

_ Sirius rolled his eyes at Harry’s transparent attempt at changing the subject and ignored the comment.    _

_ “I think that I’ve been very patient with you, Harry. I’ve allowed you your secrets for a very long time now,” he whispered into his ear, sending a delicate shiver down  _ _ Harry’s _ _ spine. “But by now we’ve shagged often enough to earn me the right to some answers,” Sirius teased lightly before gently nibbling on Harry’s earlobe. “And until I get my answers I’ll be keeping my talented mouth and hands to myself.”  _

_ And with that, Sirius dropped Harry’s wrists and stepped away from him, giving him time to process the ultimatum he’d hidden behind his crass and teasing words.  _

_ Harry ran a hand through his hair and sighed. _

_ “You don’t play fair, Black,” he murmured gingerly. _

_ “Never said I did, darlin’,” he joked,  _ _ shooting Harry _ _ one of his beautiful mischievous smiles, but Harry wasn’t fooled. Carefully concealed behind the smile and playfulness laid a deep hurt which stemmed from Harry’s lack of trust in him.  _

_ Harry had known that this moment would come—had anticipated and dreaded it—but had also foolishly held out hope that things would remain uncomplicated between them. But as fate would have it, the circumstances weren’t so, and Sirius was finally making him choose. _

_ Trust him with his secrets, or lose him entirely.   _

_ There was no more room between them for any more lies or half-truths.  _

_ Suddenly, Sirius's smile faltered and twisted into a pained grimace as he internally battled with himself, but then his he pressed his soft lips into a decisive line, eyes shining resolutely with whatever silent decision he’d just  _ _ come to _ _.  _

_ “I know that there isn’t much I take seriously, but I am very serious about us, Harry,” he said earnestly, stunning grey eyes begging Harry to believe him. “I- I need you to understand that I’m  _ **_not_ ** _ playing around,” he added fervently. “Merlin, I- I-” he stuttered, releasing a strangled chuckle. He nervously licked his bottom lip and sighed, “I don’t know how or when it happened since you kinda snuck up on me, but you’re it for me now, Harry. I know that I haven’t made my intentions towards you very clear, because I’ve got layers upon layers of fucked up insecurities and I completely suck at explaining and showing my feelings. But know that if you’ll have me, I intend to spend the rest of my life with you _ _.” Sirius ended with _ _ a croaked whisper. _

_ Harry’s eyes widened at the admission and he sucked in a sharp, startled gasp, feeling completely astonished. Sirius had, in his own endearing way, just proclaimed his love and devotion towards him and it sent his heart racing uncontrollably in his chest.  _

_ For a moment he was struck speechless, feeling completely dazed as he tried to sort out his conflicting thoughts.  _

_ Harry loved Sirius. Merlin, he loved him so much, for so many years and in so many different ways. He represented so much for him; hope, strength, loss, grief, family, and a sense of belonging he’d never felt with anyone else besides Tom _ _ ;  _ _ and that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Thirty-three years later and he still wasn’t over him, no matter how much he’d like to believe otherwise. His heart still undeniably belonged to Tom, but it had been Sirius that had miraculously been able to heal his festering misery and broken spirit. It had been with Sirius’s help that he had finally begun feeling anything other than betrayal and heart-ache.  _

_ Allowing himself to get to know his parents and Sirius had been the best thing he had ever done for himself. _

_ “Sirius, I-” he started to say, but what could he possibly say? How could he word what he felt without hurting the young man who was responsible for his renewed ability to see colour and beauty in the world?  _

_ Something in his eyes must have given away just how conflicted he felt because Sirius gave him a sad but reassuring smile.  _

_ “I know you’re still healing, Harry. That you’re still not over Tom.” Harry’s eyes immediately narrowed at the name, filling with a cold fury that sent a shudder through Sirius.  _

_ “How do you know that name?” Harry demanded through clenched teeth as he fought against the stinging agony and panic that threatened to overtake his senses. _

_ Sirius steeled himself and gave him a small shrug. “You sometimes mumble his name in your sleep,” he admitted sheepishly. At Harry’s guilty expression he was quick to reassure him, “Mind, you don’t do it very often, but whenever you do it’s always followed by the most painful and heart-breaking whimper I’ve ever heard. It’s obvious that he’s caused you a lot of pain, and I’m not asking you to tell me about him. I don’t need to know about your past romantic relationships. I just want you to know that I’m not this Tom fellow. I’d never do anything to hurt you or betray your trust, Harry _ _ , _ _ because you’re the most precious and important person in my life, and whenever you’re ready to open up to me about yourself _ _ , _ _ I’ll be waiting for you.”   _

  
  
  


Harry shot up in his bed, head spinning in dazed disorientation as he heard Sirius’s heartfelt words echoing in his ears. It took him a few moments to gather his bearings, not quite sure where or when he was. He hesitantly opened his eyes and took in his blurred surroundings, waiting patiently for his memory to come back to him.  

‘November 1941’, and with that one thought all the other facts fell into place. 

His name was Hadrian Peverell. 

It was the 20th of November , 1941. 

He was on a mission to save Tom from himself and save the world from total annihilation.

Sirius was dead—had been dead for almost four centuries. 

Harry sighed and dropped back onto his bed, feeling less rested than when he’d gone to sleep. 

It had been a long time since he’d dreamt of Sirius, and he couldn’t help the fresh sting of grief it brought him, reminding him of the life he’d long lost.

The Sirius that would be born in a few years would never know him that way—would never grow to love him unconditionally. 

Harry would play the role of beloved uncle to him. He’d watch him grow and create a life without him. He’d no longer be the most precious and important person to  Sirius . 

H e rationally knew that the path he’d chosen was for the best, realised that following this path meant that Sirius would never grow up in a hateful and malicious environment and that it gave him the opportunity to find someone who loved him as he deserved, but it didn’t stop him from hurting and missing what was never going to be.    

With those thoughts clinging to him like a filthy, skin-rooted odour, Harry buried his head in his pillows and tried unsuccessfully  to banish the memories of all the people he’ d ever loved and lost. 

* * *

 

Harry was sitting at the Slytherin table , distractedly picking at his breakfast, not having much of an appetite after the restless night he’s had,  and  feeling beyond glad that it was Saturday and thus  he  had no classes to attend to.  

Stupid dreams. He didn’t need his dreams to rehash old times with him. He remembered everything well enough on his own. 

“Harry? You’ve not heard a word of what I just said, have you? Hello? Hadrian!” 

Harry finally tuned into his surroundings when Orion started frantically waving his hand dangerously close to his face. Harry blinked himself back into the present and tilted his upper body away from the hazardous hand which had been close to poking out one of his eyes. 

He threw Orion a bemused smile and gave him a small apologetic shrug. “Apologies, Orion. I’m feeling a bit out of it this morning,” he said, throwing in his irresistible grin for good measure.  

Orion rolled his eyes at his friend and sighed in that overly dramatic way of his that reminded him painfully of Sirius. “I was inviting you, on behalf of my father, to join us at the Black manor for Yule. The invitation extends towards the whole duration of our break. I’d suggest accepting the invitation, Harry. Mother’s already prepared a room for you on father’s behest. He would be mighty upset should you decide to stay at Hogwarts, and insulted should you take up any other offer,” he warned him cheekily. 

“I’ll be there too,” Alphard said from next to him but didn’t look up from his breakfast. “Anything to get away from Walburga,” he shuddered. 

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that, Cousin,” growled Orion from Harry’s other side before he turned to face him once again. “So?” he asked expectantly. “Can I tell father you’ve accepted his most generous offer?”

“Yule with the Blacks? Sure,” Harry agreed, trying his best not to glance down the table where he knew Tom was sitting, and trying not to think about how alone he’ll be over the holidays. 

Maybe next year they would be able to spend Yule together. 

“Brilliant! That’s settled then,” Orion beamed, then dug back into his bacon and eggs with un- P ureblood - like gusto. It was a good thing that his sister wasn’t around or he’d be receiving the scolding of the century. 

Harry was about to reach for the last cinnamon roll when it was snatched from the plate by Fleamont who casually slid in beside Harry, pushing Orion to the side. 

“Oy, that was my bun,” growled Harry at the same time  that  Orion snapped, “Watch it, Potter.” 

“Lovely morning to you , too, Harry,” Fleamont said in between mouthfuls of the delicious cinnamon roll he’d stolen, completely ignoring Orion.

“We spend enough time with you as it is, Potter. Must you sully our breakfast with your presence as well?” Alphard grumbled as he bit into his apple. Harry shot him a glare, but Alphard just shrugged. “He’s the one stealing your cinnamon roll,” he pointed out. 

True, Harry thought , and turned his glare back onto Fleamont. 

“It’s Saturday. You owe me a rematch, remember?” Fleamont quickly redirected the conversation as he innocently continued munching away. 

Oh, yeah. Harry had promised him a rematch  the last Sunday when he’d won yet another game of seekers. 

“I thought we were going to continue the chess game we started yesterday?” pouted Orion, sending him one of his puppy-eyed looks. 

Yes, he’d promised that too, he thought and bit his lip. 

“Would you be free this evening, Orion?” he asked him, hoping that it would put a stop the tantrum he was sure the younger Black was about to throw.  

Orion narrowed his eyes at Fleamont but slowly started nodding his head in reluctant agreement. “That’s fine, Harry. We’ll play tonight,” he waved off, then directed a mocking smirk towards the Gryffindor boy. “I don’t know why you bother, Potter. Harry will beat you every single time you go up against him. He’s the best flier  that’s ever been born !” 

Had Harry forgotten to mention that Orion was his number one fan? Well , yeah, he really was.

Harry chuckled and reached around Monty to ruffle Orion’s hair, drawing an annoyed scowl from the little Black. 

“It’s the Potter ego, Orion. He can’t take the fact that someone’s a better flier than him,” he explained playfully as he sat up, giving his grandfather a friendly pat on the back. 

“You’re  _ not _ a better flier, Peverell!” Fleamont insisted, pushing himself up with an indignant huff. 

“I see you’ve spent a lot of time in Egypt recently, haven’t you?” Alphard said, joining in on the teasing jeers, which earned him a  scathing glare from Fleamont. 

Harry loved his friends. He really did. 

“Let’s go settle this , then, Potter,” challenged Harry. 

“Yes, let’s,” Fleamont agreed with a resolved nod. Poor lad didn’t stand a chance and didn’t even know it. 

* * *

 

It hadn’t even been an official school match or anything of the sort, but all the Slytherins had been able to talk about all day was the trashing Potter received from Peverell in their small and friendly game of seekers. Well, it would be more accurate to say that the whole school was talking about it, but the Slytherins bragged  relentlessly .

Earlier that morning at breakfast, Tom had seen Potter rudely invite himself over to the Slytherin table and help himself to the last cinnamon roll Hadrian had been about to reach for. A few minutes later , Potter whisked him away, and most of the school followed, seemingly having nothing better to do with their Saturday morning other than watching two boys repeatedly try to catch a small golden ball.  

For some unfathomable reason, Tom had found himself amidst the crowd that had nothing better to do with their Saturday, gasping and cheering alongside them with each dive and turn Peverell made. His heart had stopped a beat or two when he’d watched him feign a dive, his broom mere inches away from the hard ground, before he’d skillfully pulled up in time to avoid a life-threatening collision. Unable to control his relief, Tom had embarrassingly stumbled backwards while clutching a hand to his chest. He had the exciting match to thank for the fact that no one noticed his momentary slip in composure. 

He’d never felt partial to quidditch or any sort of flying, finding it a complete waste of time. He thought that about any sport or game really, but watching Hadrian Peverell fly was nothing short of poetry. 

Tom had always thought that Hadrian was graceful, envying the way he was able to move around almost silently. But Hadrian flying? It was honestly the finest art he’d ever witnessed. 

So much talent. So perfect in every way. He’d have to be blind and a complete brainless fool not to want him, not to wonder what it would be like to take and be taken by such a powerful man.

At  that moment, Tom was making his way back to the Slytherin common room, having just spent several unproductive hours in the library pouring over various books for any sign of his possible heritage,  and  once again failing to find anything useful. 

His lack of progress was beyond agitating, and the lack of contact he’s had with Hadrian over the past couple of days didn’t do anything to improve his foul mood. 

Salazar, there was something seriously wrong with him. There must be for him to act so irrationally. Hadrian had all but consumed his thoughts and it was such a maddening experience, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to resent him for it, not really. 

Had Tom not been so lost in thought , he might have been watching where he was going, and thus avoided the collision that sent him sprawling onto his back, only barely escaping what was sure to have been a severe concussion.

But he wasn’t—watching where he was going, that is—and that’s why Tom was currently groaning and rubbing his slowly bruising elbow. 

A cutting insult was on the tip of his tongue, but it quickly died away when he heard the frantic and apologetic voice of Peverell. 

“Tom? Fuck. I’m so sorry, Tom. I should’ve been watching where I was going. Here, let me help you up,” he said and bent down to offer his hand. 

Usually—had it been anyone else, really—Tom would have slapped away the offered hand before growling out some choice words. He might have even thrown in a hex or three, depending on his mood. Now? Now he just took the offered hand with a small , gentle smile on his face and apologised. Apologised!    

“No, it’s my fault. I was lost in thought and wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. My sincerest apologies, Hadrian.” Morgana help him! He’d actually meant it. 

Harry chuckled and grinned at him. “Let’s just agree that we both need to be more careful,” he said, then quickly dropped Tom’s hand, belatedly realising that he was still holding onto it. Ignoring the small disappoint ed  pang at the fact that he was no longer touching him, Tom tried and failed to control his blush under Hadrian’s intense gaze and nodded his head dazedly.  

He completely missed Hadrian’s next words and blinked in confusion. “Pardon?” he said, trying to focus less on Hadrian’s eyes and more on the words his soft-looking lips were forming.

“Is something the matter, Tom? Are you hurt?” he asked him, and Tom’s heart swelled uncomfortably at the genuine concern he heard in his voice. 

“No, not at all. I’m fine,” he quickly reassured him, ignoring the painful throbbing he felt in his right elbow. 

“Are you sure? Do you want me to escort you to the hospital wing?” he asked worriedly.

“Oh, no. That won’t be necessary,”  Tom assured him, shaking his head.  

“Alright , then,” Harry smiled.

Tom averted his gaze and forcefully stopped himself from fidgeting nervously. “You weren’t headed towards the dungeons, were you?” he asked before he could bite his tongue.

“No, I wasn’t. I’ve actually been wandering around for a while trying to escape the congratulating crowd. Who would have thought that Slytherin house could be so supportive?” he said sardonically, and it was easy to understand what he was alluding to. Peverell hadn’t forgotten about his encounter with Malfoy and Nott a month or so back, and Tom had seen both boys shake his hand earlier. It would seem that Hadrian didn’t tolerate hypocrisy. 

“Quidditch seems to send the best of men into a lunatic frenzy,” Tom offered in mild defence of his sycophants. 

“You don’t like quidditch, do you?” Hadrian asked him, but it sounded more like a statement to Tom’s ears. 

“I don’t necessarily dislike the sport. I simply find that I have better things to spend my time on,” he told him diplomatically, not wanting to offend the man that quite clearly enjoyed the sport.   

“And that’s not a crime,” Harry assured, noticing that the little guy looked a bit nervous about critiquing something that obviously meant a lot to him, which was rather astounding considering that his Tom wasn’t capable of even that small amount of genuine consideration and empathy. 

“Some people might state otherwise,” grumbled Tom, thinking about the many arguments he’d had on the subject in his earlier years at Hogwarts. 

“Mostly incompetent wannabees that live vicariously through witches and wizards that actually have the talent for flying,” Harry shrugged, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Tom smirked at Harry’s retort, appreciating the devil - may - care attitude that surfaced from time to time. 

Peverell seem ed so caring and understanding all the time, that sometimes it was hard for  Tom to remember that he was the same person that beat Malfoy and Nott wandlessly after taking a Crucio to the chest. Beautiful , that was, truly, but still hard to connect with the man standing in front of him. 

“Don’t hold back, Peverell. Tell me what you really think about these— incompetent ‘wannabees’, was it? Not quite sure I’ve ever heard that term before, but I think that I get the gist of it.” 

Hadrian rubbed his neck and  grinned impishly . “Picked up the slang in America,” he fibbed quickly. “They’ve got this habit of butchering the queen's English.”

“You’ve spent time in America?” Tom asked him curiously. It must have been nice to travel the world. Tom  had never been anywhere but London and Hogwarts. Orphans didn’t get to go on vacation. Not that anyone was going on vacation at the moment, what with the massive wars going on in both worlds. 

“Some,” Hadrian hummed , but wasn’t forthcoming with any more information.

Not wanting their time together to end just yet, Tom, with his eyes averted shyly, timidly asked if Harry would like some company wherever it was he was heading to.

As soon as the words left his lips he wanted to hex himself for acting like a fool, but then Hadrian reached out and placed two fingers under his chin and tilted his face towards him, meeting his nervous gaze head-on. 

The gentle touch took Tom by surprise, but the most disconcerting thing about it wasn’t the inappropriate familiarity of the action, but the fact that he didn’t mind the touch. It was widely known that Tom didn’t like to be touched—no exceptions. But the delicate fingers lightly touching his chin did not send his stomach churning in disgust ; instead, a different sensation gripped at his stomach. It was a burning clench that spread a tingling heat through his whole body.

“I was heading down to the kitchens. You’re welcome to join me if you like,” Hadrian offered, before abruptly snatching his fingers away from his chin and taking a small step away from him, leaving him cold.    

“I’d love to. I missed dinner and I’m feeling rather peckish,” Tom managed to say through his disappointment. 

“You shouldn’t be missing meals, Tom,” Hadrian scolded and started pulling  the boy along towards the kitchens. 

The next hour was spent talking about their interests. It was an inconsequential conversation that served no other purpose than to get to know one another better. It wasn’t something Tom usually engaged in or encouraged, but , as he’d begun to accept, Hadrian was the exception. 

He didn’t care what they spoke about, or if they spoke at all. Hadrian’s presence alone was enough to warm his heart and immerse him in a state of contentedness. 

They were now rounding the last corner that leads to the Slytherin dungeons, settling a heavy disappointment in Tom’s chest, knowing that they would now be going their separate ways. 

It was once again irrational of him. He shouldn’t feel disappointed. He hadn’t even planned to speak to him until their next tutoring session, but it seem ed that logical thinking didn’t stop irrational feelings. It was a learning experience he  truly  could have done without. 

“Could I tempt you for a game of chess? I’ve just finished a game with Orion, but somehow I think you’ll be a more worthy opponent.  J ust don’t tell him that I said that,” he added quickly, looking over his shoulder to make sure said boy wasn’t anywhere within ear-shot. 

Tom’s ears went pink at the compliment, and he tried not to preen. “I’d like that,” he agreed maybe a touch too enthusiastically.

He felt much too elated at the fact that Peverell has chosen to spend more time with him. It should terrify him, and he knew that he shouldn’t allow this. Peverell was a weakness he couldn’t allow himself the luxury to have. But in his presence, he lost all sense of self-preservation.  

“Great!” Harian beamed, sounding very much like he meant it. “Should we make it interesting and involve a timer?”

Tom grinned his approval. He worked better under pressure anyway. 

* * *

 

Death had been watching Harry and Tom from a short distance behind them, obscured from everyone, even Harry, and rolled his eyes.  _ Humans and their attachments _ , he huffed silently inside his mind. Did Harry really have to act so undignifying ly buoyant in Tom’s company? 

It irritated him. He knew that he had no right to feel this way, especially since he masterminded this whole situation—but he did. 

Tom Riddle had always rubbed him the wrong way. The bastard had, after all, created seven Horcruxes just to avoid him, and those actions didn’t exactly endear him to Death. Then he had gone and hurt his Harry, which had turned his mild dislike to pure disdain. 

He had hoped that with enough time Harry would forget about him, but , to Death’s utter surprise, it never came to pass. 

Tom Riddle had managed to bury himself too deeply in Harry’s heart. Not to say that Harry hadn’t grown to be contented with his life, because surprisingly enough he had. Before the last war had peaked, Harry had reached a sense of tranquillity he’d never possessed before. But even so, Death had to admit that Harry had lost his fire—that exhausting passion for life that had always defined who he was.  

The true reason Death had sent them back to this time—the reason he’d never dare confess to Harry—was that he wanted to offer Harry another chance with the one person he’d ever truly fallen in love with. 

He hadn’t thought that watching them together would bother him so much. 

But Harry was happy, so Death would try and be happy for him. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait you guys. I hope you think it was worth it. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone following this story and to any new readers that have taken an interest in it! I'd love to read any comments you'd like to share ^_^ 
> 
> Thanks to my beta for helping me make this story more enjoyable to read, as always!! 
> 
> Till next time xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**November 25th, 1941**

**Somewhere in an abandoned classroom,  
Hogwarts**

"Nothing's happening," Tom hissed through gritted teeth, nostrils flaring with the deep breaths it took for him to control his anger. He exhaustedly swept away the sweat from his forehead, feeling frustrated and bitter about having failed yet another attempt to cast the Patronus charm.

Thankfully though, Tom managed to retain enough self-control to stop himself from throwing his wand against the wall. After all, it wasn't as if he could afford to buy a new one—not that he'd ever want to part with his yew and phoenix feather wand even if he did have the money to spare.

Tom and Harry were currently occupying one of the abandoned classrooms close to the library, which was mostly bare apart from a couple of old looking desks and chairs that had conveniently already been pushed to the back of the room.

Harry was sitting cross-legged on top of the teacher's desk with his back hunched forward, left forearm resting casually against his knee, and his chin propped up on the heel of his right palm. He was facing Tom, who was standing in the middle of the room scowling at his wand as if was the prime reason for his failure—which it wasn't, of course. Poor wand.

Harry's lips were curved into a wary half-grin as he silently observed the young wizard gradually working himself into a frenzy and couldn't help but think that it was probably the most adorable he had ever seen Tom look.

"Nothing's happening," Tom repeated in a mangled, disbelieving whisper which Harry suspected wasn't meant for his ears.

Suddenly Tom seemed to remember his audience and swiftly turned to hide his infuriated expression from Hadrian. He clenched his jaw and ground his perfect white teeth in silent rage, desperately trying to control his juvenile reaction towards his own incompetence. But the anger and embarrassment he felt only continued to swell when he thought about what a right fool he was making of himself—in front of Hadrian, no less.

' _Not Hadrian,'_  he thought miserably.

A fresh surge of shame burned scorchingly through him, flushing his cheeks and clogging his throat.

' _Salazar, please let this not actually be happening to me,'_ Tom pleaded silently while he clamped his eyes shut in pure mortification.

Harry sighed quietly and willed himself to be patient.

He'd known that it wasn't going to be easy, but the little imp wasn't taking him seriously. How was he going to make any improvement if he won't listen to Harry's advice? Every time he tried to impart some of his wisdom onto Tom, the little bugger found a way to interrupt him; therefore Harry hadn't gotten any further than the most basic explanation of 'spell is powered by a happy memory'.

Maybe he would be more appreciative of his advice now that he realised he wasn't going to be able to master this spell on his own.

"You're not listening to me, Tom," he tried again. "Sheer will isn't enough to successfully cast the spell. The memo-" and as expected, there it was—cue interruption.

"I'm already focusing on the happiest memory I've got, Peverell," Tom snapped, his eyes blown wide and flashing defensively. "As you can clearly see, it's not working," he ground out as civilly as he could manage while clenching the fists hanging stiffly at his sides hard enough to dig angry red crescent marks into his palms.

Tom was trying to reassure himself that it wouldn't matter if he didn't manage to cast a Patronus.

He was trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault that he didn't have a strong and happy enough memory for the Patronus—not his fault that he didn't have a childhood to speak of.

So what if he didn't have a memory that filled him with tingling warmth? The Patronus charm was a trivial spell that wasn't even part of their curriculum, and while it was somewhat disappointing to find that there was something he wasn't instantly good at, it was of no consequence if he failed to master the spell. Anyhow, genius or not, he should have known that with his dark inclined magical core, it would be almost impossible to cast the heavily loaded light magic.

The longer Tom argued with himself, the more certain he became that it just  _didn't matter_.

Harry could see the battle that was raging inside Tom. His grey eyes swirled with uncertainty, self-doubt, and shame as he questioned his capabilities. Then the liquid mercury that made up his irises hardened and flashed resolutely.

The angry, frustrated, and defensive energy that had been vibrating out of Tom's every pore, gathering magic that had been ready to lash out at any moment, abruptly dissolved without any traces of it ever having been there at all.

Tom's furious features settled into an apathetic expression that froze Harry's heart with its cruel familiarity.

Harry hadn't allowed himself to fully realise until then how out of character Tom had been acting around him with his shy and endearing demeanour. The sudden change was a harsh reminder that the Tom standing in front of him wasn't his Tom.

In the mess that is his long and complicated life, Harry sometimes—fine, maybe most of the time—forgot that Tom was just a boy with no memories beyond the past fourteen years that he'd lived. Fourteen years of negligence and discrimination. Fourteen years of having no one but himself and his magic to look out for him.

And there Harry was, further torturing the poor boy.

Harry's mind involuntarily strayed to his recent selfish and manipulative actions, which sent an unexpected pang of guilt through him. Because that's what he was doing, wasn't it? Manipulating a little boy that was starved for the slightest bit of affection?

He'd like to fool himself into thinking that he'd been putting Tom's needs before his own twisted need for revenge, but that would be a lie.

He'd known that Tom wouldn't be able to do the spell. He'd known that all too well, and he'd gotten a sick sense of satisfaction out of the fact that the usually cocky and self-assured boy would be taken down a few notches.

He shouldn't have. He should have known that it was too soon—too delicate a subject to broach with him just yet. He should have anticipated the pain it would cause the unloved boy.

He should have known a lot of things, but everything was so damn blurred all the time.

At times it was almost impossible to distinguish his reality from the one everyone was currently living in. He knew so much about everyone around him that it was hard to focus on the things that have happened and disremember everything else.

He couldn't erase his past—his life—but he also couldn't hold anyone responsible for something they hadn't done yet. He knew this, logically he knew this, but knowing didn't necessarily make it easier to set his bias aside. It was especially hard to do so when there were so many strong, complicated emotions involved—which was a colossal understatement where things between him and Tom were concerned.

At the beginning of Harry's existence, he loathed Tom with an unbridled passion. He'd then fallen in love with him somewhere in the middle and spent the rest up until that point resenting, loathing, and loving him with equal measure. Those were some very strong and complicated emotions to simply ignore, even if compartmentalizing his emotions had become second nature to him.

Harry needed to have a long and serious conversation with himself about his intentions and his goals before he ended up messing this up over a grudge he's been holding onto for as long as he could remember.

Harry swallowed down the bitter taste of guilt and gracefully jumped off the table before closing the distance between him and Tom in two long strides.

Tom continued staring blankly at the uneven brick wall, either not caring or not noticing that Harry had moved to stand in front of him.

"It's not your fault, Tom," Harry whispered, wanting so much to reach out and touch his cheek reassuringly, but holding himself back.

Tom's neck snapped around to face him and as soon as Harry caught sight of Tom's eyes he instantly knew that he'd chosen the wrong thing to say.

"I don't need your pity, Peverell," Tom snapped bitingly while taking a quick step back to turn away from Harry. He crossed his arms defensively over his chest and resumed staring at the wall, pointedly trying to ignore the older boy.

Harry winced at the harsh tone and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. He nervously licked his bottom lip and mulled over his next words very carefully, fully convinced that nothing he said would appease Tom's ire.

Nothing ever appeased his Tom when he got into such a snit… but this  _wasn't_ his Tom, he reminded himself firmly. He really had to stop comparing them.

This was a 100% souled up Tom. While Harry figured that the munchkin was somewhat of a sociopath, Tommy dearest hadn't yet turned into the psychopathic monster that he had fallen in love with… which raised a lot of questions about Harry which he'd like to keep on avoiding for the rest of his existence.

At lightning speed, a new question flitted through his mind that left him breathless and dazed.

Would he ever come to love this Tom as he had loved the other? As he'd so kindly pointed out to himself not a moment ago, this wasn't his Tom—would never become his Tom. So would he? Or would Tom become some twisted replacement-

No, Harry wouldn't think about it right then. It was too much to analyse while the subject of his sudden panic was standing in front of him with a tense posture and a mighty miffed expression on his face.

Harry gulped and shoved those thoughts away for later on in the night, when he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep anyway, and focused back on Tom-Not-Tom.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally decided to start with, feeling that it was the safest way to pave the path to what he wanted to say. "It wasn't my intention to cause offence, Tom," he said softly, making sure that his face looked appropriately apologetic and remorseful.

Tom's harsh glare involuntarily melted as he listened to Harry's apology, but kept his back turned.

"I didn't get the spell on my first try either," Harry revealed unashamedly, knowing that sharing his own failure with Tom would soothe his frustration. "It actually took me a few months to finally master the spell."

Tom released a scoff that made it very clear that he didn't believe a word Harry said, obviously assuming that he was just trying to make the younger boy feel better.

"While it's quite flattering that you think me so infallible, I'm speaking the truth," Harry vowed, face open and honest.

When that didn't get a reaction from Tom he pressed on, "I was only thirteen when I first tried the spell, and despite whatever impression you might have, I didn't attempt the spell because I was academically ambitious. At that age, my studies where honestly the last thing on my mind. No, my interest in the Patronus stemmed purely out of self-preservation. About a month after my thirteenth birthday, I had my first run-in with some dementors, you see" he said grimly, drawing a surprised gasp from Tom.

Harry grimaced and nodded his head. "Yes, it was an unpleasant experience, to say the least, and unfortunately they seemed to affect me more severely than anyone else around me."

Harry stopped for a moment, glancing towards Tom who had just turned back around to give his full attention. His curiosity was easily detectable in his eyes even if his face gave nothing away.

Harry offered the young wizard a small smile and shrugged. "How that happened isn't important. What's important is that I was defenceless against their effects and attacks, and I hated how helpless I felt. I never wanted to feel that way again. So at the young and tender age of thirteen, I endeavoured to master the Patronus, the only known method of repelling those despicable creatures. I obviously failed, repeatedly," he said flatly, followed by a derisive snort.

This little piece of information definitely continued stirring Tom's interest. Somehow he couldn't picture Hadrian struggling with anything he attempted. He just seemed so…  _perfect_.

It was also rather startling that Hadrian felt comfortable enough to share this with him. His trust filled Tom with a profound sense of smugness and satisfaction, but it also made him feel rather warm and short of breath.

Gaining a far-away, glazed look in his eyes, Hadrian continued his story.

"In my desperation, I became reckless, draining myself to the point where attempting a simple Lumos became impossible after my training. I learned some very important lessons while trying to master the spell; patience and self-control, for one, because whether I liked it or not, unless I wanted to leave myself weak and open to attack, I needed to pace myself."

Tom's eyes sharpened at that comment, his mind immediately wondering why a thirteen-year-old Hadrian would be so worried about being attacked. Surely the accident he'd had with the dementors wasn't a regular occurrence? Surely, unlike Tom, thirteen-year-old Hadrian had adults to protect and look after him?

Before Tom could further ponder the matter, Hadrian continued talking, drawing his attention back to the seventh year.

"It took me several months of soul searching to find a thought powerful enough to produce a corporeal Patronus, but I finally managed. Once I broke through the barriers of my comfort, the truth was left staring me in the face, crystal clear."

Tom furrowed his brow and pinched his lips in confusion.

"I'm sorry, that didn't make much sense, did it?" Harry said with a lopsided grin, and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

Tom simply gave him a pointed stare, silently asking him to elaborate.

Harry, clearly struggling for words, licked his bottom lip and nervously bit down on it. The action drew Tom's eyes to his lips and made his mouth go dry, causing him to momentarily forget what they had been discussing.

The reason Harry was having such a tough time picking his words was because he didn't want to accidentally let Tom know how much he knew about him, or Merlin forbid—offend him again.

"Sometimes," Harry said hesitantly, "for some of us... true happiness is veiled by a world of pain—pain that we instinctively try to protect ourselves from. It's impressive how easy it is to be convinced by the lies we hide behind, to accept the feelings we've unwittingly fabricated."

Tom's attentive but relaxed posture tensed, making Harry internally curse himself for his inability to leave well enough alone.

"Of course, that's not the case for everyone," he hurried to add. "That's simply my personal experience. There are those witches and wizards that need only think of flying or food—yes, Tom, food," he repeated amusedly at Tom's disbelieving scoff.

"What kind of moron produces a Patronus by thinking of food?" Tom mumbled lowly to himself, but Harry sharp ears caught it anyway.

"Either a really lucky moron that is absolutely content with his life, or one that is penniless and starved, thinking about a warm meal that has been kindly offered to them."

Those words and Harry's clipped tone effectively shut Tom up. The argument he made hit a sensitive nerve and he found himself uncharacteristically empathising with this hypothetical moron, and he slowly began to understand what Hadrian was trying to explain.

"What I have been masterfully failing to explain is that happiness doesn't have a universal set of rules. It's subjective—defined differently for each individual as a result of everyone's own experiences. Needing some time to master the charm doesn't make you a lesser wizard, Tom. It's a very challenging spell that works on complex emotions. Be honest with yourself and unashamed of the truth you find," he said with a firm yet warm tone. "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it sooner rather than later," he finished, affirming his statement with a reassuring and supportive nod.

Tom curiously narrowed his eyes at Hadrian, wondering why the wizard seemed to have so much faith in his abilities. The fact that he was, quite frankly, a magical prodigy wasn't exactly a secret, but the way Hadrian spoke... He spoke with a kind of certainty that could only stem from a person who has known you for a very long time.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Hadrian, but I honestly don't see any reason to master the spell. Apart from the fact that it repels Dementors, it doesn't have any other unique uses, and I don't see myself being attacked by a swarm of Dementors any time soon," Tom said glibly.

Harry internally winced at that, sincerely hoping that Tom hadn't just jinxed himself.

"While I agree that it's highly unlikely," Harry began slowly before clearing his throat. "It's always better to be safe than sorry, no? They also serve well as messengers. No offence to the owls, of course, but in an emergency, a Patronus is simply more efficient. Not to mention that a fully corporeal Patronus makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. Truly a mood lifter," he rambled, and when his words reached his ears, he ducked his head, his cheeks flushing slightly.

' _Warm and fuzzy? Mood lifter? Really?'_  Harry scolded himself then closed his eyes, feeling absolutely mortified with himself. How old was he? Five?

Tom blinked once, then twice, but managed to hide his bafflement rather well.

Tom watched the older boy for a moment, noting how flustered the usually composed wizard looked, and bit back a smirk.

Tom wasn't quite sure that feeling warm and fuzzy was reason enough to spend months mastering a spell, but he supposed that the messenger bit sounded intriguing enough. He had never read or heard about that being one of the Patronus's functions, but he wasn't about to argue with Hadrian. He had a feeling that he would only be proven wrong by the older boy.

Harry cleared his throat, and while still avoiding eye contact he said, "I think we're done for today, Tom. It's about time for dinner anyway," he sighed and took a step back. "Don't worry about the Patronus too much, yeah? I shouldn't have pushed. Just remember that you're a brilliant wizard, Tom."

Tom felt himself gain a slight blush at the compliment, but didn't allow himself to show Hadrian how flattered he actually felt. "So I've been told," he said with a self-assured smirk.

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Probably much too often by the sound of it. I should really refrain from complimenting you in the future," he said dryly and moved to get his bag from where it lay strewn on the floor next to the teacher's desk.

"You're rather certain that there will be other instances where you'll feel compelled to compliment me, aren't you, Hadrian?" Tom asked cheekily, trying to hide the disconcerting disappointment he felt at watching Hadrian get ready to leave his company behind his usual witty sass.

While Tom definitely didn't want to spend another minute trying that wretched spell, he wasn't quite ready to cut his time with Hadrian short.

Since their impromptu bump-in the last Saturday, Tom had not spent any time with Hadrian at all, and not for lack of trying on his end. He'd even stayed up until four in the morning on Tuesday in hopes of catching the older boy for a short chat, with no luck. It almost drove him mad, thinking about all the possible places that Peverell could be at that time of the night, but he took solace in the fact that there were no rumours about Peverell seeing anyone—not even a single whisper—which wasn't to say that it quenched his concern. Because what could he possibly be doing at all hours of the night? With whom? And how was he never caught out after curfew?

Tom focused back on Hadrian just in time to catch the worried expression crossing over his face.

"You were gone for a second there, Tom. Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you do those last two tries. Even if unsuccessful, the spell can be very draining," he muttered with obvious concerned.

"I'm fine, Hadrian. I simply got lost in my thoughts. There's no need for you to fret," he reassured with an eye-roll. He then went to grab his black leather satchel from the dusty chair he'd left it on.

"If you're sure," Harry relented reluctantly, a worried frown still fixed on his face.

"Do you have any plans after dinner?" Tom found himself asking, surprising both Hadrian and himself.

After a small pause, Harry regretfully nodded his head, sending Tom's heart plummeting into his stomach.

"I've got a meeting with Dumbledore," he informed him as he held the door open for Tom, ever the gentleman.

Tom hissed in his mind at the fool's name but kept his face impassive. "Meeting with Dumbledore?" he feigned indifference, refraining from suspiciously narrowing his eyes at the older wizard.

The professor and Hadrian seem to be much too friendly for Tom's liking.

Harry shrugged and followed Tom out of the room. "I need his opinion on something. I'm planning on putting a bill forward at the Wizengamot this coming session before Yule," he explained.

"Something?" Tom asked him. "Is it possible to be any vaguer?"

Harry smirked and raised his left brow challengingly. They both knew very well that he could have.

"I'm afraid that something is all you're getting for today, Tom. I need to head to the owlery before dinner," he said, inclining his head towards the opposite direction where Tom was headed.

"Oh," was all Tom could muster, unable to hide his disappointment. He'd thought that at the very least he would get to enjoy Hadrian's company until they reached the Great Hall. "Will you be visiting Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asked him, refraining from fidgeting with the leather strap hanging from his shoulder.

He'd honestly not meant to ask him, but he needed to find a way to spend more time with him. Hadrian was always so busy... and how long could he really continue meeting him under the ruse of tutoring? Tom wasn't willing to allow his grades or his hard-earned reputation to suffer because he wants to spend more time with Hadrian. He wasn't that desperate. At least not yet.

Harry tried to act as natural as he could in the face of that question. He swallowed silently and nervously ran a hand through his hair. An action which didn't go unnoticed by Tom's ever watchful eyes.

Harry had already made plans to go with Alphard and Fleamont, and accepting what sounded like an invitation to a romantic rendezvous to Harry's experienced ears was not a good idea at all.

It was much too soon for anything remotely romantic to happen between them. There were stages and phases that they needed to get through first. Yet rejecting Tom would hurt him and leave him thinking that Harry wasn't interested in him that way, which wasn't true—at least Harry didn't think so. He was still confused on that front in light of his earlier 'loving Tom-Not-Tom' revelation.

But how could he make Tom understand his reasons without lying or over-complicating things? He had a strong feeling that Tom wouldn't care much for the age excuse.

"I'm meant to hang out with Alphard and Fleamont. They want to give me a full tour of the village, though I don't see how long that could possibly take. Would you like to join us, Tom?"

Spending time with Black and Potter was not Tom's idea of a good time, and his face must have shown his disgust because Harry started chuckling softly. Tom hadn't realised how close they were standing until he felt Hadrian's hot breath against his cheek.

"Maybe you'll join us for a butterbeer at that pub Alphard mentioned to me," Harry offered instead, and couldn't help but add, "I would really enjoy your company."

Tom's stomach clenched at the way Hadrian's silky voice caressed his ears and had to bite back a small gasp. He cleared his throat and took a step away from him, needing the space to be able to form fully coherent sentences.

"I'll think about it," Tom grinned with more bravado than he actually felt, but was relieved that Hadrian hadn't outright rejected the idea of spending time with him. In fact, he'd invited him along and told that he would enjoy his company. While Tom wasn't about to commit himself to spending any amount of time with Black, the offer still made him feel warm around the collar.

"Good," Harry nodded with that charming boyish grin of his. "I'll see you around, Tom," he said, giving him a three finger salute before turning around.

"See you around, Hadrian," he mumbled to the retreating back, the smile falling from his lips.

Spending time alone with Hadrian was proving to be almost impossible. How was he ever going to seduce him when they never spent more than two hours in each other's company? Most of which was spent surrounded by other people or talking about school?

Should he take a more direct approach? But he couldn't be sure that Hadrian would reciprocate his… affections, for lack of a better term. He hadn't given him the distinct clues that he usually got from people that were attracted to him. In fact, Hadrian hadn't graced him with anything more than friendly interest since their first meeting.

No, a direct approach wouldn't work, he was sure of that. If nothing else because of their age difference. Hadrian seemed to be moral that way.

He'd have to seduce him. Bring him to the point that would snap his control.

He'd love to do that, but for that to happen they needed privacy.

One would think that living in such a large castle would offer plenty of opportunities, but no such luck.

Tom would just have to figure out where Peverell goes during the night. If he had a secret hiding spot that Tom could happen to stumble upon, well… it could make for plenty of time to seduce.

* * *

About an hour later, Harry was sitting comfortably in the Deputy Headmaster's office with his left leg crossed on top of his right, his striking emerald eyes watching the youthful Dumbledore asses him with an uncharacteristic amount of seriousness; even the iconic twinkle was absent from his brilliant blue eyes.

After the initial forced polite greeting and offering of a hot beverage and lemon drop, not another word had been exchanged between Professor and student. They simply sat and watched one another with equally blank expressions on their faces.

Of course, Harry knew exactly why Dumbledore was acting the way he was, and he was rather curious to hear what the man had to say about the manifesto he'd handed him in their previous meeting.

While he knew the reason for the Professor's change in attitude, he honestly couldn't predict what move Dumbledore would make next. Yes, he could make a fairly good guess at what action he would take, but that was all he could do—guess.

In all the years of his immortal life, Harry had never had a reason, nor the will, to seek out the wizard he'd once looked up to. Truth be told, he'd done his very best to avoid the man as much as possible, because while he hadn't been able to bring himself to hate Dumbledore for playing the large role he did in his miserable upbringing, he still felt a lot of resentment towards the wizard.

How could he not? Dumbledore, regardless of his good intentions, had intentionally raised Harry to—quite literally—be a sacrificial lamb for Britain's wizarding world. And yet, as hard as it was to believe, that wasn't what rankled Harry. It was the absence of choice and the lack of trust that had burned him the most.

But being the old and mature immortal that Harry was, he was able to let go of these hard feelings to dance the political dance with the aging Professor.

So, for Harry, sitting in the Deputy Headmaster's office playing a metaphorical game of chess with the ginger-haired wizard, it was a new experience altogether, and he couldn't help but feel excited at the new challenge Dumbledore presented.

One thing was clear to Harry-he wouldn't be growing bored any time soon.

Suddenly Dumbledore shifted in his seat, dragging Harry's attention back onto the wizard sitting tensely in front of him.

Harry watched as Dumbledore leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together, all the while keeping his scrutinizing blue gaze locked onto Harry's sharp green eyes.

It took quite a bit of restraint for Harry not to send the older-looking man a sly wink just to toy with him, but he figured that now wasn't exactly the right time for that sort of thing.

Then Dumbledore finally felt prompted to break the heavy silence around them.

"Might I speak frankly, Mr. Peverell?" he asked him evenly, skipping right over the inconsequential small talk portion of the conversation.

Harry's lips twitched and he raised an amused brow, green eyes twinkling. "Please," he said, gesturing with his right hand for Dumbledore to proceed.

Another few seconds of silence ticked by, then Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and bent down to open one of the drawers on the left side of his desk. He pulled out the familiar, black leather-bound journal he'd given him last week, and then proceeded to carefully place it on the polished wooden surface standing between them.

Dumbledore was looking at the innocent-looking journal as if he couldn't make heads or tails out of it and then turned that same perplexed gaze onto Harry.

"I've read it a total of three times since you've given it to me," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were divulging an intimate secret with Harry.

"I imagine it was a lot to take in," Harry acquiesced with a small nod of his head, doing a marvellous job at hiding just how entertained he was.

Dumbledore hummed and stroked his long, ginger beard. "You understand, of course, that given the nature of our previous discussions—" he paused, sending Harry a meaningful look, "a manifesto was not what I had been expecting," he said smoothly, managing to conceal the unease Harry knew he felt, but the thinly veiled accusation was not lost on him.

Harry successfully restrained the mocking pout that tugged at his lips and shot the Professor an unimpressed look. "I'd like to believe that was a compliment, sir, but I'm getting a distinct impression that I would be mistaken," he noted, sounding unperturbed by the fact.

Dumbledore dropped the forced detachment and allowed his blue gaze to ice over with his mistrust and suspicion.

"You purposefully misled me into underestimating your ambitions," Dumbledore stated coldly, the soft timbre of his voice turning strained. "I'm well aware that you've only given me a part of the journal. I'm not sure if you've done so on purpose or because you've yet to finish it, although I do suspect it's the former," he remarked pointedly. "In any case, I've read enough to realise that your aspirations reach far beyond the welfare of the magical children in Britain."

No one had ever accused the great Albus Dumbledore of being dim-witted, so Harry wasn't the least bit surprised with the conclusions and assumptions he was drawing.

When Dumbledore realised that Harry wasn't going to say anything to contradict him, his face fell in disappointment, his last shred of hope that he'd misjudged Harry's intentions crumbling to dust.

"When you gave me the journal I thought I was going to find some well thought out, if not somewhat idealistic, ideas regarding the school system," he admitted resignedly. "Instead I find part of a political manifesto written with a certain understanding of the world that goes far beyond what a typical seventh-year student should ever be capable of. Yet it's all there, written in your hand."

' _If only you knew_ ,' thought Harry, taking great pleasure in imagining the face Dumbledore would make should he ever let the man in on his secret.

Would he faint? Have a stroke?

"On the surface, the changes you are proposing may seem like they are serving to aid in the protection of Muggle-borns, but what I see is a young man using the instability and fear caused by the wars raging in both the magical and muggle world to further his own cause."

Good old Dumbledore, always thinking he's ahead of everyone else. Always so righteous in his opinions.

Harry chuckled and looked completely at ease under Dumbledore's icy glare.

"I won't deny that the circumstances in which our worlds find themselves in won't aid in convincing and swaying opinions, but that's solely because the situation serves as an accurate example for why we need such laws and regulations to be implemented," Harry argued calmly.

"There isn't an important enough reason that justifies the invasion of the muggle's life and privacy," Dumbledore swiftly rebutted with a steeled conviction that made Harry frown.

"You don't believe that protecting future generations is enough justification?" Harry asked him, doing nothing to hide the incredulous hitch in his tone. "And beyond that, it would serve to remove all primary reasons for the pureblood's apprehension and distaste towards muggle-born witches and wizards, inadvertently dropping the prejudicial propaganda that has surrounded them for centuries. Isn't that a goal worth striving for? Isn't peace within our own community worth it?"

Dumbledore looked like he was about to argue a very obtuse point, so Harry ignored the rules of polite society and cut off his words before they were given the opportunity to be vocalised.

"If muggle-borns are brought up and taught to respect and follow our values and traditions the purebloods can't hate them for slowly destroying our ways, which the muggle-borns only do because they are unexpectedly thrust into a new and intimidating world, at a very young and impressionable age, no less. We do that, we change- no, we  _abolish_ everything they have been taught to believe in, without even bothering to explain it to them, allowing them to flounder about to reach their own uneducated conclusions. It's no wonder that they try to cling to whatever amount of familiarity that they can. And let's not forget that not having been a part of the magical world before the age of eleven makes them feel inferior on principle, even without the constant judgment of the purebloods."

"Mr Peverell-" Dumbledore tried to interject but Harry kept on talking over him.

"Muggle-borns are expected to know everything when they are taught nothing. How exactly is that not negligent?"

This time Dumbledore was more assertive with his interjection, accusation punctuating every word he spoke. "So you believe that the utilisation of dark artefacts, truth potions, Occlumency, and secrecy contracts is a plausible solution for that problem?"

Harry was unable to refrain from rolling his eyes at the wizard.

"The only reason why my invention would be classified as a dark artefact is because the activation runes need to be drawn in blood. So you will understand if I don't succumb to unfounded prejudice concerning  _dark magic_ ," he intoned sarcastically, "and maintain my stance on its use. Particularly when it will grant us the location of every magical child born."

Dumbledore shook his head in a pitying manner that made it fairly easy to anticipate his next words.

"My dear boy, you're still so very young. You can't possibly understand the ramifi-"

Any amusement that Harry had been feeling quickly drained away. He was willing to take a lot of things, but platitudes were not one of them.

"I'd rather not take a stroll down the road of denial if it's all the same to you, sir," he said, tone suggesting that it wasn't really a request. "Let's not pretend that you're an uneducated man, or that I am some clueless youth that you'll be able to push your lies onto."

Dumbledore looked startled at the blatant disrespect he was being shown by his student and straightened his posture, obviously in an attempt to intimidate and remind Harry of his place.

Harry wasn't impressed.

"Mr. Peverell, you seem to be forgetting just whom you're currently addressing."

Knowing that he wasn't going to win himself any favours by further insulting the Professor, Harry did his best to sound sincere in his apology.

"My apologies, Professor. I'll admit to sometimes allowing my passions to get ahead of me. But, respectfully, sir, besides the supposedly dubious artefact, what else was it that you said had you worried? Ah, yes, the truth potions and use of Occlumency."

Right, so Harry could have been slightly more diplomatic with that apology, and by the looks of Dumbledore he thought much of the same. But then again, Harry didn't need Dumbledore to be his best friend—preferred it very much if he wasn't.

"Without the truth potions and Occlumency, we won't be able to tell the muggle-born's parents' true intentions. Without them, we won't be able to prevent the abuse that might arise in light of the parent's new knowledge. Don't assume that I mean to place all parents in one boat, but I find that it is our duty to make sure that their home life is within the acceptable. Such matters should not be left to guesswork, sir. Nor should they be left to be dealt with until after they've begun studying at Hogwarts. We both know that accidental magic in a muggle-born child might lead to emotional and physical abuse well before the age of eleven, which I might add is also mostly because the parents don't know what's really happening to their children," Harry pointed out none to delicately.

Dumbledore floundered for a moment but quickly found his confidence again.

"While I understand where you are coming from, Mr. Peverell," he said honestly but quite dismissively. "I simply cannot, in good conscience, agree to those methods."

Harry waited for a beat, thinking that the esteemed Professor would have more to add, but he didn't, which caused Harry to huff offendedly.

That was it? Disagree without offering a reason in return?

"And on what grounds would that be, sir?" Harry pressed, not about to make it easy for the wizard.

From the slight widening of Dumbledore's eyes, Harry guessed he thought the matter had been set to rest. Not very smart for a man that was supposedly one of the greatest wizards to ever live.

"It's unethical," came the resolute declaration from the older-looking man's lips.

He honestly thought it was that simple, did he?

Harry chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "Unethical? And abandoning a child in need isn't? And I suppose that the next thing you'll be telling me is that leaving our world vulnerable to discovery isn't a pressing matter of concern. Yes, Professor. Let's leave the safety of our community up to faith and chance, shall we? Let's disregard all the facts staring us in the face and hope with naive optimism that it all turns into roses and rainbows. Let's ignore the dangers muggles pose because  _Merlin forbid_  our pride be hurt," Harry ranted mockingly and he wasn't quite done yet.

"It's rather frustrating, if you ask me. Both factions are willfully ignorant to the bigger picture because of different superficial reasons. They are more involved in proving who's right then they are on fixing the problems choking us from all sides. I've read the transcripts of all the Wizengamot meetings held in the past five years, and I can assure you with absolute certainty that the state we've fallen into has gone well past laughable and started trudging into crying-rivers-of-despair territory," Harry stated, as though he were simply pointing out how dreadful the weather was outside rather than the sob-worthy state their Ministry had fallen into.

Dumbledore sighed dismally and started rubbing soothing circles against his temple. At some point during Harry's tangent, the hostility in Dumbledore's crystalline blue eyes had dimmed, outshined by his reluctant understanding.

"Was there anything else you wanted to add, my boy?" he asked him with a tone that could be mistaken for teasing had Harry not caught the underlying warning in his voice.

Not one to waste an opportunity, Harry grinned and shrugged.

"I suppose the secrecy contract is the only thing I haven't touched up on, but I can't fathom what misgivings you could possibly have about it. It's really no different from the other contract Muggle-born's parents receive when they are formally introduced to our world. Albeit, it's a bit more restrictive and they are forced to sign it eleven years earlier, but the principle is the same. I don't find that unreasonable at all," he said waspishly.

"But that's not where it stops, is it, Mr. Peverell?" Dumbledore asked him with eyes that gleamed knowingly behind his spectacles.

' _Sagacious, Professor_ ,' thought Harry, his grin turning into a wide teeth-baring smirk.

Well, if he hadn't figured out at least that much, Dumbledore wouldn't have been the man Harry thought he was.

"No, it isn't," Harry conceded. "Everyone within our community is a threat to the Statute of Secrecy, especially since the majority don't have the foggiest idea of how to blend in with the muggles. As you've perceptively deduced, the parents are only the first step, and likewise, the secrecy contracts are only the first step in many phases to secure our safety."

"One of those phases being the hypothetical new primary school curriculum you've devised. Teach the muggle-borns about wizarding culture, and teach those coming from wizarding families muggle culture," Dumbledore gathered, sounding moderately impressed for the first time since Harry stepped into his office that evening.

Harry gave him a small affirming nod and a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It's relieving, yet also so very maddening, how most of our problems can be fixed with a proper education system," he commented breezily with evident criticism.

Dumbledore chuckled and contemplatively scratched his beard. "And you really think that the purebloods are just going to fall into line?" he questioned dubiously with a slight sardonic lilt, but Harry caught his uncertainty in the way his eyes flitted away from his for just a moment, before locking back onto his green gaze with renewed conviction.

"I can understand why some of the light families might feel inclined to agree with your propositions, but the darker side will not accept the integration of muggle-borns and their families into our world. Furthermore, the notion that they would allow themselves to be educated in the way of muggles is nigh impossible."

The unwavering certainty in which Dumbledore naively spoke did nothing but elevate Harry's amusement.

"You don't give the opposition enough credit, sir. Do you really think that once I've shoved the irrefutable truth in their faces, they won't cave? I'm positive that at first, they will try to discredit my work, but in order to do so, they will have to crack open a few books and search the same files I have. Unfortunately for them—" Harry paused and threw Dumbledore a self-assured smirk, "—they will find that the numbers I've so generously researched and compiled together for the Wizengamont's benefit are indeed authentic.

"It will be a shock at first, no doubt, and who can blame them? To find out that coupling with half-bloods, muggle-borns, or even muggles, will, in most cases, produce stronger offspring... It's turning everything they ever thought they knew upside down. But once they've given it all a few days' thought, the unavoidable insecurity and fear will settle in. I can guarantee that when all is said and done, the majority of them will cease pushing for pureblood marriages, if not outright refusing them—which, yes, brings with it its own set of issues to the table, but nothing that can't be easily fixed. I might be remiss here, but I prioritise inbreeding over marital issues," he said, sarcasm practically dripping from his words. "It's the lesser of two evils, if you will."

"Not all of them will step out of their pride and accept your pretty words and logical reasoning, Mr. Peverell," Dumbledore insisted, rather weakly in Harry's opinion.

"No, not all of them," Harry agreed. "But the world doesn't need all of them to agree, just the majority, and time will root out the rest."

Harry gave a small pause and cocked his head to the side.

"So you see, Professor, all I really have to do is convince the purebloods that without fresh blood, their families will eventually die out, and  _et voilà,_ everything else starts slowly tumbling into place. Muggle-borns and their families will be brought into our world early, safely, and accepted—increasing the probability that they will choose to stay in the wizarding world even after their schooling at Hogwarts is done. Wizards will be more willing to learn about Muggles because it would enhance their chances of finding a spouse in the Muggle world; ergo less potential for accidental exposure due to ignorance. I could go on, but I believe you understand the gist of it, sir."

Dumbledore gave him a curt nod. "I do," he said shortly, "but I also understand that several moral and ethical laws need to be bent so that you can achieve your vision of an ideal and perfect world. It's truly fascinating, the way you look at the world, Mr. Peverell. I can also recognise that your intentions were pure at the start of this endeavour, might even still be so at the core, but the ends do not justify the means."

While Harry was able to stop himself from groaning, he was quite helpless against the exasperated expression that twisted his features.

It seemed like Dumbledore wasn't going to stop being a judgmental and prejudicial wanker any time soon.

"Not even for the greater good, sir?" he asked him, earning himself a sharp look from Dumbledore, to which Harry simply responded with a challenging smirk.

Yes, reminding the righteous Professor of his utter hypocrisy seemed like the way to go.

"Tell me, Professor, what is it that you're really objecting to? Is it truly the use of dark artefacts and mind arts? Or is it possible that perhaps you're scared of all the power the success of such an undertaking would grant me?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Which was rather convenient for Dumbledore, as he looked like he'd just swallowed his tongue.

"I don't blame you, sir," Harry said smoothly, "if your thoughts have wandered down such roads. I mean, we both know that the Ministry will not be springing the galleons to fund the department needed to enforce and maintain such new laws. And we best believe that they are not going to be the ones building the shelters for the families pulled out of the Muggle warzone, the orphanage, or the primary school. I would, therefore, be the primary benefactor of all these projects. Only the right thing to do when it hardly makes a dent in my fortune," he added demurely, but the twinkle in his eyes told a different story.

It was time to get down to the crux of the matter.

"Which leads us to what really has you shaking in your skin, Professor. The one question you've been repeatedly asking yourself since you've read through the journal for the first time. 'What exactly is Mr Peverell going to do with all that gratitude, debt owed to him, and influence?' Yes, let's not forget the influence I'll have over the way the younger generation is brought up. I'll have had them all under my direction for six full years before they are dropped into your custody—some of them even longer. It would make some of your own plans fall asunder, would it not?"

Dumbledore's face had gone blank the moment Harry had used the word 'undertaking' and hadn't twitched since, but his non-reaction was telling enough, even without Harry's ability to feel the panicked waves coming off the wizard.

Harry decided that it was time to stop playing and start reassuring the older-looking wizard before he caused him an aneurysm.

"All that being said, I can understand your apprehension and suspicions, sir. You don't know me at all, so how can you possibly trust my intentions? To you, I'm a nobody that appeared out of thin air wearing the Peverell Lordship ring."

Sceptical blue eyes glanced at said ring, and Harry felt tempted to offer it up for examination, but refrained—barely.

"But that's the reason why I'm here in your office, sir. So that you may get to know me. Had I wanted to hide my plans I could have easily done so. Instead, I've given you the first part of my manifesto, and now I'm here explaining myself to you. Doesn't really scream deceptive politician to me, don't you agree?"

Dumbledore did not look convinced if the tensing of his shoulders and the hardening of his eyes were anything to go by.

"You possess a silver tongue, Mr. Peverell. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Coming from anyone else that would have probably been a compliment, but Harry knew what the wizard was getting at. He was alluding to the fact that Harry could simply be saying all this to manipulate him. There was nothing definitive from stopping Harry from having an ulterior motive to all the plans he'd shown him.

"Not in the past couple of hours, sir," Harry couldn't help saying with a cock-sure smirk that had Dumbledore clenching his jaw.

Suddenly Harry dropped the smirk and a solemn, twisted frown fell in its place.

"In all seriousness, sir. All I strive for is equality, our world's safety, and the preservation of magic. Whatever else you may believe of me, I did not mislead you in that. Just because you assumed I wouldn't be able to succeed, doesn't mean that I mislead you. I don't want the power that will inevitably be at the tip of my fingers, and I have no intention whatsoever of misusing it," Harry insisted firmly. "It's not a dictatorship I seek. I'm convinced that once I've set things in motion, other people will finally stand up and start pulling their own weight. I'm banking on that because that's the only way we can finally start thriving once more."

There was a long and tense pause before Dumbledore finally decided to speak again.

"You're much too suave for me to trust you and take your words at face value, Mr. Peverell. I've met the charming visionary type before, and I've already learned my lessons. Ones which I do not intend to forget any time soon."

Harry's heart almost went out to Dumbledore when he caught a quick glimpse of the undiluted pain reflecting in his eyes at the reminder of lost love and betrayal. Harry was much too acquainted with such an emotion not to recognise it, even if the other wizard did a very good job at hiding it.

All sympathetic feelings towards Dumbledore flew out the proverbial window when he remembered what a hypocritical bugger he was.

"I'm not asking for your unwavering trust, Professor. All I am asking for is the benefit of the doubt," was all Harry had to say, looking completely at ease, as if Dumbledore's opinion didn't really matter either way.

"You wish to sway me to your cause," Dumbledore deduced, incorrectly for once.

"Not quite, Professor. As you are well aware, I don't need your support to make all that happen," Harry said, gesturing towards the charmed journal he'd given him. "But I also know that everything would go much more smoothly if you didn't fight me or question me every step of the way. So I'm giving you the opportunity to understand my motives, so that we might, perhaps, come to a civil understanding."

Dumbledore watched Harry for a moment to gauge his sincerity and saw nothing but honesty shining in his emerald green eyes, which caused him to purse his lips and draw his eyebrows together in a deep frown.

"You seem to give my influence in our community too much credence, Mr. Peverell. I am but a simple Transfigurations professor," Dumbledore said, humble as ever.

Harry tilted his head to the side and fixed Dumbledore with a disappointed stare. "Let's not waste time on false modesty, Professor."

Dumbledore seemed like he was about to protest, but Harry shot him down with an irritated glower. "You and I both know that you're going to succeed Headmaster Dippet in a few years time, sir, and while I've only just recently returned to England, I am not blind to the fact that the lighter families show you a great deal of respect and trust," he said with a tone that brokered no argument. "Then there are whispers, of course," he added slyly, as if it were a mere afterthought.

"Whispers?" inquired Dumbledore sharply.

"Yes, whispers," nodded Harry with an amused smile. "They are but faint murmurs caught in a storm, but an attentive ear might catch their meaning. About how the simple Transfigurations Professor at Hogwarts might be the only one powerful enough to defeat the rising Dark Lord. Curious whispers, don't you think, Professor?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore sighed, adam's apple bobbing with a silent gulp.

"Imagine the influence and power that would fall at your feet should you manage to thwart the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries. You'd be offered the Minister's position, no doubt, which you'll humbly refuse, of course. Your place is in Hogwarts, after all, nurturing the minds of future generations, and far away from the temptation of power. But you will still accept the position of Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock because you don't trust anyone else with those positions."

Dumbledore's choked incredulity was enough to convince even an invalid that Harry was hitting the bull's eye with each statement that rolled brazenly and smoothly off his tongue.

"Do feel free to stop me whenever you feel I have erred in my assumptions, sir. After all, I didn't have the benefit of a well-drafted manifesto, and had to speculate based on hearsay," Harry said, delivering the metaphorical checkmate of this round.

Dumbledore's ashen face and speechlessness indicated that this was time for Harry to take his leave and allow the professor to process his thoughts.

"I see. I'll leave you to consider what has just been discussed, sir. I'm sure that, in the end, we will be able to come to an understanding. Same time next week?"

Once Dumbledore gave him a terse nod in response, Harry gracefully got up from his chair, politely inclined his head towards the stupefied professor, and soundlessly left the room.

Once the door to his office closed behind Hadrian Peverell, Dumbledore slumped in his seat and put his head in shaking hands.

Only two things were running through his mind.

' _Who exactly was the boy?'_  and  _'Merlin please let his intentions lie true with his words.'_

* * *

**26th November, 1941**

**Slytherin Dungeon**

Alphard wasn't stupid—not by a long shot.

He was one of the brightest students in his year without having to be overly studious, a fact his younger brother was deeply envious of, given that he had to put in so much effort just to keep up with his classmates.

Sharp observation skills were among Alphard's many talents. He enjoyed collecting secrets from the shadows, most of which didn't serve a purpose beyond his own entertainment, but some others he stumbled upon were more… profound. Such secrets would be deviously filed away just in case he had a need for them in the future.

That being said, politics were most definitely not Alphard's cup of tea. Be it Slytherin, Wizengamot, or family politics, he simply wasn't interested. Politics were stressful and demanded an amount of socialising Alphard wasn't comfortable with. He preferred watching everything unfold, and maybe offering a small nudge where he saw fit.

He was forever grateful for the fact that it was Orion that was being groomed to be the Lord of House Black. It spared Alphard a lot of misery.

Alphard had never belonged to any side. His self-preservation demanded that he stay neutral in all matters, and since he wasn't going to be Lord Black, he had the luxury to do so.

Then Hadrian James Peverell entered the scene.

He had been instantly smitten, of course, and who could blame him? Harry was probably as close to perfection as a fallible, mortal human could be.

Try as he might, Alphard couldn't help feeling drawn to the powerful young wizard. He supposed that was the case with everyone that had the pleasure of his acquaintance, but Alphard had the fortune, or perhaps misfortune, of being Harry's close friend. It was thoroughly impossible to get over a person you were constantly in close contact with—especially when you weren't the main initiator of said contact.

For some reason that still wasn't clear to Alphard, Harry had picked the Black family as his surrogate family. He had no need for them, not truly. He would have had Arcturus's support even if he hadn't allowed himself to be practically kidnapped into the family. Yet for reasons beyond all of Alphard's rational comprehension, Harry came to care for them. It was astounding how easily he fit in with the crazy lot of them as if he'd always belonged among them.

As was mentioned, Hadrian came along and Alphard found himself involuntarily choosing a side—Harry's side.

He was in awe of how easily Harry played the game. Everyone in his family was awed, particularly his uncle.

The Black children had been sure that Harry would make a play to dominate their house once term started, confident that he would be sorted into Slytherin house and that he was more than capable of overthrowing the fourteen-year-old King. But they were left surprised when, even though Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, he'd decided not to challenge Tom Riddle's reign.

When Alphard had finally gathered enough courage to ask about it after the incident with Malfoy and Avery, all Harry had said was, 'Alphard, dear. The ruler of Slytherin may not hold reign over all of Hogwarts.'

Alphard was ready to admit, even if only to himself, that those words, followed by his wicked smirk and the mad, scheming glint in Harry's eyes, had aroused him to the point where he'd had to discreetly excuse himself to take care of his persisting problem down south.

Conquer Hogwarts Harry did, even if it was done in the most subtle of ways.

The whole student body now did their best to follow Harry's example—striving to please him, while most didn't even realise that they were.

It was unnerving, the power Hadrian's words alone possessed. If he didn't know him so well, Alphard would be terrified of all the small observations he'd made about Harry. Even though sometimes he did wonder…he wondered if he knew Harry at all.

It was within the realm of possibility that Harry was simply playing one very long con. Alphard knew without a shadow of a doubt that Harry was more than capable of it, maybe even possessed the cruelty to relish in it.

Whenever those thoughts crossed his mind, they always washed an icy unease over him, but he was always quick to dismiss them.

Harry wasn't needlessly manipulative and cruel, and Alphard truly believed that. His magic sung at him to trust the wizard.

He does trust Harry—explicitly—and Alphard usually approved of all of Harry's games, but he most certainly didn't approve of the newest game he was indulging in.  _Not at all._

Harry thought he was being subtle and discreet about it, and to his credit, had Alphard not been so attuned to his presence, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything was amiss—but notice he did.

Harry was playing with Riddle. What type of game he was playing, Alphard didn't know, but one thing was certain: Riddle had Harry's attention.

His suspicions had been confirmed the previous Saturday, when Harry invited the younger boy to sit with them in the common room to entertain him with a game of chess. Alphard hadn't been able to stomach the scene and had fled as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

The following days Harry had impeccably restrained himself from seeking out the boy, but the fact stands that Harry had to  _restrain_ himself from doing so, and that bred a special type of beast inside Alphard. On the other hand, he was eternally grateful for whatever it was that was holding Harry back from pursuing the boy when he quite obviously wanted to.

He'd said nothing about Harry's evident fascination with the younger wizard, hoping that his interest and curiosity would wither with time. Besides, as long as Harry didn't act on his clear interest, there was nothing for Alphard to say.

But that was then.

Now Harry sat there looking as if he didn't have a worry in the world, and casually mentioned that he invited Tom to join them at the Three Broomsticks on the coming Hogsmeade weekend.

Displeasure was not a strong enough word to cover how Alphard felt.

"Why?"

Alphard thought that it was a very valid question and didn't warrant the startled expression on Harry's face. But perhaps it was the angry incredulity in which the one-word question had been spoken that startled Harry.

What? Did he think Alphard would simply nod his head and smile? His stance on the Riddle subject had been made clear to Harry since he'd first mentioned the boy's name in his presence.

Harry sat up from his slouched position and sighed.

"I was simply being polite, Al. He asked if I was going and I mentioned that I had plans with you and Monty…" he trailed off with a small shrug.

"And you couldn't possibly disappoint him by rejecting his unspoken invitation," Alphard said, words loaded with heavy sarcasm.

Harry winced and grimaced. "Al," he pleaded but Alphard didn't give him any time to argue.

"Don't, Harry," he snapped, sliding out of the plush chair he'd just been stiffly sitting in. "I just don't understand. You're smarter than this. I know you are. How can you allow yourself to fall into whatever trap he's set for you?"

Harry gulped and looked away from Alphard's disappointed and accusing eyes. Eyes the same shade as Sirius's.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling Tom-"

"Oh, it's  _Tom_ now, is it?" Alphard interrupted with a disbelieving chuckle.

Alphard turned around, giving his back to Harry, and clamped his eyes shut. There was no point getting upset about this—no point in getting jealous.

"Forget I said anything, Hadrian," he mumbled before walking away from Harry.

It had become rather clear to Alphard that he wasn't going to be able to reason with Harry about this. At least not right then.

He'd bide his time and wait for the right moment to strike. He wasn't about to let Tom Riddle win over his Harry without a fight.

* * *

That night Harry made his way to his usual spot on top of the Astronomy tower feeling incredibly solemn. Alphard had given him the cold shoulder for the rest of the evening and it put Harry in a foul mood.

He hated being at odds with his friend, but what could he say? Alphard was only trying to protect him from the very real threat Tom could pose, and he couldn't fault him for that. That didn't mean that Alphard's childish behaviour wasn't bothering Harry.

Harry climbed up to the roof and was surprised to find Death waiting for him.

"Oh, so you've finally decided to turn up again, did you?" Harry snarked, his foul mood increasing as Death's presence reminded him of his friend's noticeable absence over the past week.

"Miss me, dear?" Death asked coyly, not bothering to hide his glee at his friend's apparent foul mood, knowing very well that his chipper attitude would only serve to worsen Harry's mood.

"Cut the bullshit," Harry growled, narrowing his eyes. "Where the buggering fuck have you been?" he questioned snappishly, expecting an answer— _pronto_.

"Here and there," Death answered evasively, smirked then added, "and sometimes everywhere."

"Merlin, you can be such a prat sometimes," he huffed. "I called for you! Don't I warrant even a cursory check-in anymore?"

"I know you called, but I needed some time," was all Death said in his defence, not sounding the least bit apologetic about it.

"Oh? Time to do what, exactly?" Harry asked suddenly feeling very curious, and moved to stand next to Death's imposing figure

"To think, Harry," he replied flatly. "I understand that it might be a foreign concept to you, but I needed some time to think."

"About what?" Harry pressed, ignoring Death's very bad dig at him. He was usually much better at insulting him. Something must really be resting heavily on his mind.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss,"was Death's short answer.

" _Not at liberty to discuss_ ," mocked Harry with a snort and roll of his eyes. "You're full of Hippogriff dung, Death. Honestly. We never keep secrets from each other, why start now?"

"Because it's my prerogative to do so," he said calmly, but with such finality that it took Harry aback.

A very tense silence followed the statement as Harry tried to gather his thoughts.

Harry didn't know what was wrong with his friend, couldn't even begin to guess, but he knew him well enough to know not to further press the issue. Death would speak his mind when he was ready.

"Today's not my day," he sighed instead, taking a seat.

"I guess you're referring to the little spat you had with Alphard Black earlier this evening?"

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. "Don't even," he moaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"Yes, your lack of suitors is absolutely maddening. I'm sure no one would like to trade you for your problems."

' _Sarcasm duly noted_ ,' Harry thought as he turned his head to glare at his friend.

"I promise not to let my irritation out on you, if you promise to show me the same courtesy."

Death's only answer was silently taking a seat next to Harry.

They didn't say anything else for the rest of the night, simply enjoyed each other's comforting presence while they lost themselves in their own thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the new chapter. Feel free to let me know what you think! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone reading!! And a special thanks to everyone leaving a comment ^_^ 
> 
> Extra special thanks to KingOMalley for being such an awesome beta!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**November 27th, 1941**

As dawn broke through the twinkling night sky, casting all the bright stars away, Death started feeling a sense of foreboding crawling it's way up his gut. It itched and nagged at him throughout the early morning, agitating him to the point where he resigned himself to dealing with it.

He didn't necessarily  _care_ about what was going to happen—didn't care a wit about it, really. It wasn't his task to care about the happenings and failings of the creatures of Earth. His only chores—and his only reason for existence—was to keep the balance between the living and the dead, and to serve as a bridge between the two realms. Chores which he has performed admirably since the beginning of time.

So, the sole reason why he'd bother with looking into this foreboding signal he was receiving was simply because he wanted to quiet down the doom-and-gloom instincts that were going haywire in him. Which, true enough, wasn't altogether unusual in these times. What with wars of the near-apocalyptic variety that were currently underway and causing all sorts of mayhem in the world.

_So much useless death and carnage_ , Death sighed irritably.

Humans would never change, despite how 'evolved' they may think themselves to be.

It's always about power and violence. Well… maybe sometimes it's about sex too, but even a large chunk of that was about power and violence.

Bleh, stupid mortals. Always adding onto his workload and making everything difficult for him.

Alright, fine. Maybe workload was stretching it a tad bit, but being the gateway to the other side wasn't exactly all fun and games. It lost its novelty way back in BCE; about a hundred millennia ago, give or take.

He wished, and not for the first time, that he could simply eradicate all those insufferable  _humans_. Yes, please note the general term used. Magical or not, he'd like to see them all dead.

Things were so much more peaceful before their creation.

But Harry wouldn't like such a scenario. Sure, if everything was shot to hell again, he'd probably be willing to give up on them, but he wouldn't be  _happy_ about it, which only means that Death wouldn't get any rest for a very, very,  _very_  long time.

Right, okay. Back to the issue at hand. The issue being that an occurrence of the majorly wicked variety was about to happen that day, and not the good sort of wicked, but the sort of wicked that sent a lot of souls packing to the realm of the dead.

The location where the wickedness was going to take place was a non-issue.

All his prickling and burning senses were pulling him towards Hogsmeade, the quaint wizarding village close to Hogwarts. He was also getting four smaller pings from other locations in Britain.

There wasn't anything significant about today's date that he could remember. There weren't any battles scheduled that warranted the prickling sensation down his spine—the one warning him of the dreadful possibility that a considerable number of souls might be about to pass through him.

In the other two or three times that he's lived through the year of 1941, nothing ever happened on the 27th of November, of that he was certain—almost completely certain, that is.

Still, whatever was happening, was going to happen much too close to Harry...

Not that he was worried about Harry, because he wasn't. Harry was a big boy and didn't need Death to protect him. He had a back-to-life guarantee on his soul and body that made worrying a daft and absurd notion.

So, no, he was definitely  _not_ worried about Harry.

Death decided to pointedly ignore the sudden drop in temperature around him.

What was today? Today. Today. Today was… well, it was a Hogsmeade weekend, wasn't it?

_Bugger._

If Death remembers correctly—and he was quite certain that he did—the little witches and wizards residing in Hogwarts were probably going to be wandering around Hogsmeade today.

Not really the best of signs, to say the least.

He could see it now; a blundering mass of nitwits trapped in the village with no hope of survival, burning and destruction all around them, and death, of course. A lot of dead—no longer blundering—students. Oh, and villagers, too, he supposed.

_Bugger._   _No time to waste._

A few moments later the humbling icy mountains Death had been admiring were gone, replaced by the mundane sight of the old wizarding village.

As his eyes swept over Hogsmeade, that nagging feeling he'd been feeling all morning increased tenfold in its intensity. Fun stuff, that.

If there was ever any doubt that something was about to happen, it was now gone.

Obviously, the village was going to be attacked, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it was going to be Grindelwald's men that attack the unassuming village.

What he did not understand was how this was happening.

Grindelwald was not the kind of Dark Lord that strikes on a whim. Each and every one of his attacks were planned weeks in advance, and as far as Death knew from his visit two days ago, his next attack was planned to take place in a small village in the south of France, targeting some Unspeakables in hiding, and definitely  _not_ Hogsmeade village or any other location in Britain.

Then there was also the fact that Grindelwald hadn't planned on attacking on British soil anytime soon, as he was quite adamant on avoiding his ex-lover for as long as possible.

This, whatever was going to happen, was a drastic change in plans. Something must have happened in the past two days that changed Grindelwald's mind—something urgent enough to warrant an emergency attack...

Harry. He's been informed about Harry, and it seems like he didn't much care for the news he received, as evident by the five surprise attacks that were underway.

_Bugger._

This was not going how Harry had wanted it to go—at all.

Sure, they had chosen the name Peverell on purpose, knowing that it would provoke a reaction from the current reigning Dark Lord. Harry had wanted to speed up the process of Grindelwald's fall from power to avoid some of the larger massacres that had happened—would happen—but this escalated much quicker than either one of them had anticipated.

The plan had been for Death to let Harry know when Grindelwald finally got the news so that they could get everything rolling. The Dark Lord was to fall by August next year. Harry was going to subtly push Dumbledore to face him, but if he didn't bite, Harry would do it himself. Whether he would do so anonymously or not was still up for debate.

Death had been diligently checking every evening, making sure the Dark Lord was still in the dark. Alright, so maybe he'd skipped going a few times this past week because he'd been a little bit distracted, but he'd gone two nights ago and everything had been perfectly fine!

One night. One night was all it took.

_Bugger. Harry was going to be so furious with him._

You'd think that after all his millennia of service as Death he'd have earned himself some seer abilities, but alas, that was unfortunately not a gift of his. Sure, if he went to one of the veils he could look into different time periods, but everything was always so shifty. It gave him a right headache, it did. Not that seer abilities were all that reliable, what with all the different possibilities and split-second change-of-hearts humans tend to have.

Not that he thinks mortals are fickle or anything. He doesn't.

Right now, Death wouldn't mind some unreliable seer abilities, though. Anything would be more helpful than this nagging feeling that was annoying the hell out of him. But unfortunately, he wasn't all-powerful and all-knowing like Mother Magic. Even magnificent creations like him had their very few limitations.

Though he did have his suspicions that Mother Magic had deliberately not given him such a gift to make it harder for him to fuck with the creatures of Earth.

He didn't blame her...

_Focus._

Right, okay. So, something was going to happen to these itty-bitty mortals, that much was clear. But he couldn't very well go to Harry with some cryptic warning of coming evil. He had to have concrete evidence, like a plan, or Harry would have his hide.

Not that he wasn't already—going to have his hide, that is.

_Buggering fuck._

How had he missed this?

Yes, he'd been a bit off his game this past week, so to speak. Ever since he'd started kicking himself for caring so much about Harry's damned  _happiness_.

Travelling to this time period had been revenge and a gift rolled in one. He'd thought that maybe, while saving the world, he could get his old Harry back, with the added bonus of torturing him some before the goal of everlasting happiness was achieved.

He had prepared himself for various scenarios in which Harry lost his shit, but what he hadn't prepared himself for was the intense hatred he personally felt towards Tom Riddle.

He'd tried to ignore it, and while he was well-versed in the art of ignoring things, he was simply unable to ignore his ever-growing hatred for the boy. Each time he set eyes on the boy he felt a flicker of cold rage flow through him before he'd manage to quickly shut the door and lock the rage away.

He knew why he hated Tom Riddle, and it wasn't for any reasons other people might hate Tom Riddle for. Death hated him because he had broken Harry, and despised him even more because... well, that wasn't really important right then.

The point was that he hated Tom more than he had anticipated, and that's why, over the past week, he'd turned into such a contemplative creature. He didn't enjoy the change, but nonetheless, he was thinking—thinking a lot—about their options. Harry's and his own, that is, not Harry's and Tom's options.

His favourite solution was for them to hop into another time. Maybe he could tempt Harry with Sirius Black. He'd always liked the lad the best out of all of Harry's suitors. He'd even allowed Harry to bond with him, had he not?

Death had to admit that he had acted a tad rashly by bringing them here, overly consumed by revenge and the need for Harry to be more than just content. He really should have thought this over more thoroughly… but  _no_ , he had wanted to give Harry another shot at  _happiness_. Circe, when did he turn into such a sentimental sap?

_Focus._

That's right. Less with the whining and more with the warnings.

Though he did file away a quick, reprimanding, ' _Prioritise better in the future_ _,_ _you daft git!_ '.

* * *

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and Harry was lounging comfortably in one of the booths at the back of the Three Broomsticks, listening to grandpops Monty ramble on about the runes essay they'd been assigned that week and the injustice of its assigned length.

As planned, Alphard, Fleamont, and Harry had spent a pleasant morning wandering around the mostly empty village of Hogsmeade, since the majority of the student-body liked to sleep in until noon on a Saturday.

Once the streets became busier and all their shopping had been done, the three of them had decided to treat themselves to a nice lunch and made their way to the famous Three Broomsticks.

Together with their lunches they had ordered a nice firewhiskey—the top shelf kind that most Hogwarts students couldn't afford—making the most of the time they had to let loose.

It had been Alphard's treat, of course. Although Harry had been surprised that he'd also paid for Monty. But then again, it was probably done more out of a twisted sense of Black pride than any actual kindness. Not that Monty minded. To him, a free meal was a free meal.

By the time all the food had been polished off their plates, they were already on their third firewhiskey, feeling buzzed and content just sitting there, talking about anything and everything that caught their fancy. Well, not anything. Al and Monty had strictly forbidden Harry from talking about any politics during their outing, which had amused the immortal wizard greatly. He'd really become  _that_ person, hadn't he? The type that couldn't shut up about _politics_. Merlin, how far he'd fallen.

Despite the temporary embargo on his most recent favourite topic of discussion, Harry was having a good time, he really was... but he had to admit that once the second firewhiskey settled in his belly, he became somewhat distracted. He was honestly trying his best to pay attention to what his friends were saying, but he'd steadily caught himself staring at the door, watching and waiting for a certain dark-haired boy to walk through it, having taken him up on his offer to join them for a butterbeer.

Harry was so distracted that he barely even noticed that Alphard had thrown his arm around his shoulder and absently started playing with the tips of his low hanging ponytail.

With every person that passed through the door, anxiety coiled tighter inside Harry's stomach, and he wasn't even sure if he was hoping for or dreading Tom's arrival. Did he want Tom to show up or not?

The verdict was still out on that, and wasn't that the kicker?

Ever since that unbidden question had popped into his over-thinking brain he hadn't been able to push it away.

_Would he ever come to love this Tom as he had loved the other?_

Merlin, his life was a right mess, just like it had always been. To delude himself into thinking otherwise was a downright folly. His life would always consist of a string of impossible questions and decisions, followed up by that inevitable disappointment.

Feeling his good mood from earlier all but vanish, Harry picked up his glass of whiskey and watched the amber liquid swirl as he contemplated on whether he should finish it and order another, or leave off the liquor altogether.

Then the door of the pub opened and shut once more, instantly drawing Harry's attention.

It wasn't Tom.

The uncomfortable tightening of his shoulders and core muscles were enough to convince Harry that another drink was just what the healer prescribed.

So, he was downing the rest of his drink with firm plans in mind of ordering them another round, when Death suddenly appeared next to him out of nowhere, making him choke on his last sip firewhiskey.

Alphard and Monty immediately turned to look at Harry with concerned faces, and Al quickly started worriedly rubbing and thumping Harry's on his back. Harry managed to rasp out a hasty, "I'm fine" through the burning in his throat. "Wrong pipe," he wheezed, trying not to wince.

Fleamont shot him a sceptical look but shrugged and went back to whatever he'd been ranting about. Alphard raised an amused brow before reluctantly turning back to half-listening to the Gryffindor sharing a booth with them, his arm once again resting on Harry's shoulder.

Harry turned his watery green gaze toward the uninvited guest for an explanation.

"They're coming, Harry. Five attacks on British soil, largest troop headed this way. There is going to be too much chaos, the Aurors won't make it here on time. I know you want to try and save everyone, but the students here need to be your priority. Get this village secured, now, or there'll be a lot of souls passing through to the other side today, and I'd really rather we avoid that if you don't mind," were the soothing words that greeted Harry.

Harry gave Death a sharp, searching look, quickly gauging if this was one of his sick jokes. It took him all of one second to realise that Death wasn't playing any games, and Harry was instantly more alert.

His back straightened and his shoulders tensed as he braced himself for the oncoming battle.

Harry hadn't even gotten to ask Death, 'who?' because the next second he felt them—multiple Apparitions into the village.

Grindelwald's men, Harry presumed. Who else?

Oh, bugger. Any second everything was going to go tits up.

Since Death wasn't allowed to directly intervene with the problems of the creatures of Earth, it would fall onto Harry to keep as many of these wizards and witches alive.

_Terrific luck as per usual_.

"Alphard. Fleamont," Harry snapped authoritatively as his mind reeled with different solutions and repercussions.

Both Alphard and Monty turned to look at him with equally surprised and confused expressions, both eyeing their suddenly tense friend warily.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully," he ordered sharply. "This isn't a joke, and we don't have much time. The village is about to be under attack," he informed them, drawing two fearful gasps from his friends.

Harry didn't give them any time to ask questions. He turned his hard eyes on Alphard and started giving out instructions. "Al, I need you to secure the pub and make sure the kids here are safe."

The next second Harry jumped up onto the table.

"Harry, what are you talk-" Alphard started, but Harry quickly cut him off.

"Oi! Everyone listen up!" he hollered loudly to get the attention of everyone bustling about inside the busy pub. "If you all want to live, you have to stay the fuck inside the pub. Hogsmead is under attack!"

All the occupants of the dingy pub turned to look at him, and for a moment they just stared at him as if he were raving mad. Then the first screams started to sound from outside, and that promptly got them moving.

Everyone erupted into panicked confusion, but with one wave of his hand, Harry slammed the doors of the pub shut, once again rendering the entirety of the pub silent.

"Stay inside!" he ordered sharply, jumping off the table before turning to face Alphard. "Make sure you block the damn door, got it? No one but students get in through that door. Understood?"

Once Alphard gave him a wide-eyed nod Harry turned to look at Fleamont.

"Monty, I know this is a lot to ask, but you need to head to Honeydukes. Grab as many kids as possible on your way there, and try to get them through the secret passageway in the basement. We have to try to safely evacuate the village from as many students as possible. Single file exit. We can't afford for them to panic and trample all over each other. Use stinging hexes if needed."

Fleamont looked slightly sick and panicked at the prospect of going out to face several dark wizards and leading an evacuation, but a moment later his Gryffindor courage must have won over his fears because he gave Harry a quick assenting nod, hazel eyes shining resolutely.

Alphard's stomach dropped when he saw Harry about to leave with Fleamont, so he grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him back. "Where do you think you're going?" he hissed at him, ready to stop him from doing anything rash and foolish.

He really should have known better than to try and stop him.

Harry pried Alphard's fingers from around his arm and wrenched it out from his tight grip.

"I need to get to Orion and Lucretia. Your brother is also out there. I don't have time for this," he growled before he roughly grabbed Fleamont by his arm and silently disappeared from sight.

Harry dropped them both outside the doors of the Three Broomsticks and pushed Fleamont into the general direction of Honeydukes. "Go!" he screamed, and without another word Fleamont was running, sending a few Stunners and Leg Locks as he went.

Everything around Harry was in a state of pure chaos.

Villagers and students were running away screaming in all directions, shoving and crashing into each other as they tried to escape the dark-robed men that weren't shy about hurtling away brutal spells.

Some children were already on the ground with numerous different injuries. Harry could only hope that they weren't dead.

Then Harry felt several more men Apparating into the village. He managed to divert their entry to one location, far enough away from most of the students, but before he could do anymore, heavy anti-apparition wards snapped into place, together with a string of additional wards Harry didn't have time to decipher.

Splendid. Now he'd also have to deal with the reinforcements.

Close to him, Harry saw two fourth-year Ravenclaw students being levitated and flung into a wall. He managed to safely cushion their crash while disarming the two wizards that attacked them, who quickly found themselves stunned and tied in rope.

Without a glance back, Harry was off, looking for the troop of men he had just displaced.

He needed to go about this smartly.

He couldn't simply make all the bad wizards drop to the ground. While it was well within his capabilities, such a stunt would raise a lot of alarm bells he  _so_  didn't need raising.

There was no way that he was going to give these people any reason to distrust him. He had plans, damn it! Plans that required a modicum of discretion.

Even so, aiming with a throng of wild and frightened students running in the way wasn't exactly a piece of cake, but he safely managed to take down four more of Grindelwald's men, with the fifth one following quickly behind.

Thankfully, not even a second after the fifth had hit the ground, Harry spotted Tom with Cygnus, Lestrange, and Malfoy in his company. They were trying to block off some thirty or so men from filtering into the village—though Harry suspected they were mostly defending themselves, and the blocking part was a mere consequence.

Orion was also close to what was now the front lines, protecting his sister and some injured looking third-year Slytherins.

It didn't escape Harry's notice how none of the other houses went to their aid. And they accused the house of serpents of being cowards. Where were all the other houses right now? Where was that Gryffindor courage and Hufflepuff loyalty?

In the blink of an eye, Harry was standing between all of them and Grindelwald's men, protective mother dragon that he was.

"Stay behind me," he bellowed, blocking a purple blood clotting curse that was headed Orion's way and barely escaping the acidic yellow hex flying past his own head.

"Harry!" Orion cried out chidingly, clearly wanting him to look out for his own hide. Harry didn't pay him any mind, not with more than thirty battle-seasoned men standing in front of him ready for war.

Thinking on his feet, Harry slid his wand into its holster and concentrated on the energy in the air in front of the troop of men. He twined his fingers together and took a precise and practised step forward before pushing out his joined palms, creating a blue blast that sent their enemy flying backwards rather violently.

With another intricate and practiced step forward, and a push of energy to the ground, a wall erected before them, serving as a barrier between them.

Orion whistled and whooped, while everyone else was struck silent.

"Move back," Harry ordered urgently, and once he heard their scrambling footsteps he erected another wall to buy them some more time.

Harry didn't dare take his eyes off the doubly reinforced wall. Any moment they would break through it.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked his weary house-mates.

"Peachy keen, Peverell," mumbled Lestrange shakily, seemingly the only one able to find his voice, besides Orion, who happily exclaimed, "That was absolutely fantastic, Harry! You're sooo going to teach me how to do that!"

Harry rolled his eyes and caught sight of Tom in his peripheral vision. His face was blank while he stared at Harry, and it just occurred to him that he was being rather quiet.

But he didn't have the time to wonder about it. He had a bone to pick with Death.

_'I thought we were keeping tabs on Grindelwald!'_  Harry screamed in his mind, blasting open the mental connection between him and Death, knowing that his message would be received loud and clear.  _'You know! Since we had the brilliant idea to use the name Peverell! We knew it would pique his curiosity. It's why we chose it, and it's also why we were meant to keep tabs on him. We were meant to be prepared for this_ _,_ _damn it!'  
_  
 _'I have been keeping tabs on him every day,'_  came Death's demurred defence a few moments later.  _'I only missed one damn night, Harry. This wasn't a planned attack. We both know that he doesn't usually do spontaneous. This was one of those stupid and emotional split-second decisions! He was meant to attack a village in France a few days from now. Dementors were also a part of the plan,'_ he added.

Deciding that it was useless arguing about it right now, Harry growled deep in his chest and tried to calm himself.

_'Scout the perimeter and asses_ _s_ _the situation. Alert me if any dementors arrive, and report back any further threats you see,'_  Harry commanded, completely immersing himself into warrior-mode.

Most of Grindelwald's men were all behind the now cracking and rattling wall, and with the wards they put up around the village, they couldn't apparate away and none could apparate in, unless… unless they were somehow keyed in…

_Brilliant._  But that was an issue for later.

The first order of business would be getting Lucretia and the injured kids away to safety. Then he needed to keep on blocking Grindelwald's sycophants' path for as long as possible and shield a wide range of attacks that would most assuredly come once the wall was down.

No problemo.

Knowing that they only had a few more seconds left, Harry did something very rash and stupid and slit open both his palms with a swift one-fingered slashing motion, preparing himself to conjure the one shield that would keep the troop at bay for another couple of minutes, until some help might arrive. Though he doubted anyone would make it to them in time.

But he had to stall as long as he could. Taking out these men on his own was not keeping a low profile, and that's why he couldn't send his house-mates to safety. At least not all of them.

A runic dark shield was easier to explain away for now.

"While I'm quite positive that it's paralyzing fear and relief that's got you all stuck to your places, I'm rather grateful that you've not decided to flee yet," Harry commented in a rather blasé manner, pausing as a loud and powerful Bombardia was sent towards the wall from the other side, making them all wince and take a cautious step back.

Not too long now.

"They are soon going to blast through that wall, and we need to keep blocking their passage. If you're not up for it, leave now," he warned them, but none moved from their places.

"Lucretia, you need to take the children and run to Honeydukes. Fleamont is there leading students to safety," he called a little louder so that she could hear him, seeing as she was the furthest away from him. "We lads will do our best to hold them back."

Then his wall was tumbling down.

The men that Harry had taken by surprise were now back on their feet, looking mighty furious and ready for a fight.

"Let's see those impressive shields of yours, gentlemen!" Harry called out, and, unsurprisingly, all five of them followed his instructions.

Lucretia shot Harry a nervous look, wanting to stay behind and aid them, but she knew that these little Slytherins needed her help to get out of there. So she did as Hadrian asked of her and pulled up the two boys able to stand on their feet, and then picked up Isolde, who had a broken leg.

"Run, and be ready to shield yourselves," she told the crying boys, then they were off.

In the meantime, Harry dropped to his knees and heard Lestrange mumble a strangled, "What the bloody fuck," but Harry was a touch too busy to explain to his pea-sized brain how exactly it was that he was planning on saving their arses.

Which was by activating the unorthodox shield rune burned into his chest, of course.

As soon as his bloodied palms dug into the muddy ground beneath his feet, a murky green shield appeared in front of them, momentarily protecting them from the bloodhounds on the other side.

There. That should buy them some more time.

He heard Tom, Orion, and Malfoy gasp at the sight of his shield, presumably realising what type of runic blood shield he'd just conjured—or at least a close variant of it.

In any other situation, Harry might have preened proudly at their wide-eyed expressions, but not today. At least not right now.

"Alright, lads. You see any green curses passing through the shield, dodge! Now let's talk strategy," Harry snapped and rolled his shoulders back. "This pretty shield isn't going to last forever and the authorities are nowhere in sight. I get that this is bloody scary, but we have the opportunity of taking these fuckers down before they do any more damage. So suck it up!" he yelled encouragingly at his house-mates. "I need you all to prepare for battle, alright?" he asked them, as curses were repeatedly being flung at the surface of his shield, which rebounded the spells back towards their caster.

Orion was the first to step forward. "Right beside you, Harry," came the strong voice of his friend, filled with unrepentant loyalty. "Besides, Father would have my hide if I left you to die," he winked.

Harry smirked and gave him a grateful nod.

Tom moved for the first time since he had dropped his shield charm and huffed loudly. "As if I'd trust you two to take them on by yourselves," he drawled lazily.

Harry's smirk grew, and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Never doubted you, Tom."

After a small pause, Lestrange stepped forward. "You're absolutely nutters, Peverell. But I've got your back," came the surprisingly earnest vow.

Malfoy and Cygnus looked a bit warier but they also gave Harry a firm nod.

"Well, aren't we Slytherins all brave-" he started to say but was cut off by a painful shock up his spine, involuntarily making him screw his eyes shut. Their enemy's attacks were becoming more vicious by the second.

"Harry!" Orion screamed in panic, but Harry managed to shake his head.

"Our aim is to disarm and stun as many of them as we can. Curses and hexes will take too much energy from you," Harry advised them through the blinding pain he was feeling. The blood shield he was using wasn't exactly fluffy white magic.

He would have said something more if the group of men in front of him hadn't decided to send a stunner at his shield—simultaneously.

His palms were burning, and the rune on his chest had already scorched through his shirt and robes.

Before he could shout out the plan he'd formulated in his mind, the absolute last creature he wanted to see appeared kneeling next to him.

That could only mean bad news.

"Dementors, Harry. They are coming from the direction of the Forbidden Forest," Death informed him, frowning disapprovingly at the blood shield, but wisely keeping his mouth shut.

"Fuck," Harry swore. "Buggering fucking shit," he cursed as he struggled to hold up the shield.

Save the students or save his discretion?

Sometimes Harry hated being such a do-gooder.

"Change of plans, Malfoy. Dementors are coming our way from the other side, so you better be capable of an O-worthy Patronus. I need you to establish a perimeter and fight them off as best as you can until I'm done here, or else they will trap us," he ordered him urgently. "Lestrange, Cygnus, Orion, go with him-"

"I'm not leaving your bloody side-" Orion tried to protest vehemently, but stopped short when Harry sent him a terrifying glare over his shoulders.

"I told you to fucking go with Malfoy, Orion. That's non-negotiable. There are still a lot of injured and scared children running around, and they are going to need someone to protect them."

When Orion still looked uncertain, Harry's emerald eyes flashed black in warning. "Go, Orion!" he bellowed authoritatively. "Riddle and I have this. Right, Riddle?" Harry asked, risking a quick glance at the stoic boy clutching his wand tightly in his right hand.

"We have this," Tom agreed with a determined gleam in his eyes, adrenalin burning through his blood.

"Harry, you need to let go of that shield right now, or you're going to burn with it," Death warned him when he noticed black flames starting to lick up from the bottom of the murky pale green shield.

"Go," Harry grunted. "I have to drop the shield. You've got exactly five seconds," he warned them, and without another word of protest, the four of them left to fend off the dementors.

Harry made sure that they had safely rounded the corner before he retracted his hands from the muddy ground. He slid out his wand and waved it in a long, horizontal motion, creating a widespread Disillusionment that hid the whole street they were on from the view of the other students and villagers.

"It's only you and me now, Riddle," Harry told him, and in the next instant, Harry was on his feet deflecting what looked like a triple X restricted bone-breaker. "You better be in top form, Riddle, because we're about to get the work out of our lives," he quipped lightly, before rushing into the fray.

Tom didn't say anything, every one of his senses on alert as he dodged and shielded himself from hexes and curses coming from every direction. He'd counted thirty-two opponents. Thirty-two opponents, that, judging by the dark and restricted curses they were flinging over their heads, appeared to have no qualms with killing them.

He still couldn't quite believe that he found himself thrust into this life-threatening situation.

The only reason Tom had been in the middle of the battlefield was a severe case of wrong-place-wrong-time. He'd been on his way to the Three Broomsticks when he and his housemates got attacked by a bunch of Grindelwald's men. He hadn't been there out of a sense of duty to his peers, just pure bad luck on his end.

If it were anyone other then Peverell next to him, he would have taken the opportunity to flee the scene. He had self-preservation you see, or at least, he'd once believed he did.  
He'd been ready to do just that, flee the battle, when the heroic and dim-witted wizard had Apparated in front of them, ensuring the loss of all his mental faculties.

The thought of Hadrian putting himself in harm's way had set the hairs at the back of Tom's neck on edge and caused the most nauseating bile to churn in his stomach.

Worry was not an emotion he usually feels for anyone other than himself, but here he was, yet again making an exception for Hadrian.

He couldn't very well leave Hadrian to fight them off all on his own, could he? No, he couldn't do that, even though his answer should always be a resounding  _yes_. Especially with the odds scaled against their favour, or perhaps that would have been true if Hadrian wasn't—well, if he wasn't Hadrian.

Tom couldn't help but marvel at the way Hadrian cut through their attacks like an avenging hellhound, slicing through them like they were nothing but waves crashing against his skin.

His spellmanship was a weave of elegant and flawless art. He never restricted himself to any area of magic, using what seemed to be an expansive and creative repertoire of spells.

As Tom watched him swivel and do a backflip to avoid an electric blue spell, he couldn't help but think that Hadrian was toying with them. The exuberant grin he was wearing didn't do much to change the impression he was getting.

Then, all of a sudden, Hadrian transfigured a few leaves lying on the ground into mirrors and charmed them to form a dome around the troop of men, caging them in.

Salazar! The amount of control it must have taken to pull off a neat trick like that... and he made it look like it was mere child's play. Sure, they blasted their way through a moment later, but they got a few nasty cuts on their way out.

A rather large and burly looking man didn't seem too impressed by Harry's display, and swiftly sent a killing curse Hadrian's way, who looked very much unconcerned, while Tom felt his own heart jump into his throat.

Harry smirked and stomped his right foot in front of him, raising the ground to form a solid wall before him, easily guarding himself against the deadly green curse. He even had the gall to peek around the narrow wall and teasingly wave at the furious wizard.

Next, Harry conjured hundreds of ravens which immediately started attacking their enemy. It served as a good distraction for Harry and Tom to take down the ten men in the front. They quickly dropped to the ground, stunned and bound with unbreakable rope.

While the other wizards tried to fend off the malicious ravens, Tom saw Hadrian chant under his breath, which was unusual since he always seemed to use non-verbal spells.

Five seconds later, nearly all the men in front of them were screaming out in utter horror, battling invisible demons. It presented them with the perfect opportunity to take down twelve more men who fell into a heap on the ground, disarmed and completely defenceless.

Harry was mildly impressed. Those men still standing had managed to fight through one of Harry's own creations. The curse was meant for a mass of people to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Only those with strong Occlumency shields were able to ignore the phantom images their minds viciously displayed before them.

There were only ten dark-robed men left standing when the terrified screams of the other students reached Tom and Harry's ears, indicating the arrival of the Dementors.

Unfortunately, it served as enough of a distraction for Tom's left elbow to get hit with a bone breaker. He couldn't help the scream that tore from his lugs as he felt his entire lower arm breaking in several different places. Even his fingers were twisting in odd directions.

"Tom!" Harry cried, his eyes flashing a brilliant shade of green as they were consumed by a burning fury.

With a series of hand movements, Harry had the ground beneath Grindelwald's men's feet shaking and cracking open. Seven of them fell screaming through the deep crack while the other three charged forward and barely managed to dodge the lightning that came thundering down around them.

The next second, one of them hurled a killing curse which was headed straight towards Tom.

"NO!" Harry roared from deep within his chest, and before he knew what he was doing he Apparated in front of Tom to stand between him and the green curse.

Startled by Harry's scream, Tom snapped open his eyes just in time to see the killing curse flying his way. There was no time for him to try and conjure anything to shield himself—there was no time for him to dodge. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the impact which never came.

When Tom noticed that he was still breathing, he also took note of the strong arms wrapped tightly around him. With his heart pounding in his ears, Tom quickly opened his eyes again and instantly locked them onto Harry's enraged and hysterical gaze.

Tom heard the three wizards gasp at the fact that Hadrian wasn't a corpse on the ground, but Tom didn't gasp—he was too shocked for his body to be able to do anything but stand there, breathless in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

Before Tom could even articulate one full question in his head, Hadrian let go of him and turned back to the terrified looking men.

_'That was a fucking stupid thing to do, Harry,'_  came the unnecessary criticism from Death in his head.  _'You really couldn't have thought of another way to save him?'_

_'It was bloody instinct, Death,'_  he growled back in his mind.  _'Now bugger off. I've got these pricks to deal with.'_  
  
Now, since these three gentlemen had seen something they really shouldn't have, Harry had no choice but to dispose of them in a more permanent manner than he'd done their colleagues.

Not that he had any qualms whatsoever in setting those disgusting rats on fire.

"Sorry lads, but I've got no time to dance. Got a cold date with some dementors, you see. I'll be sure to send them your regards," Harry smirked vindictively, and one hand twist later they were burning up in deep purple flames.

A few beats of complete silence passed between Harry and Tom as they watched the three screaming bodies quickly turn into ash in the wind.

Tom knew that he should've felt disturbed at the easy and cruel approach Hadrian took to murdering those men. He knew that were he anyone else he'd be trembling in shock, probably traumatised for life. But all he felt was fascination and a deep sense of gratification at the knowledge of how ruthless Hadrian could be.

The fact that Tom's possible demise could arouse such an intense reaction from Hadrian sent a spike of fierce possessiveness through him.

Hadrian had jumped in front of the killing curse for him.

A moment later that thought had Tom's eyes widening as full comprehension of what just happened finally sank into his slow brain.

Hadrian had taken the Avada Kedavra and was somehow still breathing. He'd done what no one before him had ever been able to do—something that was said to be impossible.

He couldn't have...but there really was no mistaking the telling acidic hue of the killing curse.

"What the bloody hell are you?" Tom murmured from behind him, awe shining brightly in his grey eyes.

Before Harry could even think of replying, another scream sounded in the air. A desperate shriek that sounded immensely like Hadrian's name and could only belong to one person.

Lucretia.

Without another thought, Harry took off in a sprint, jumping over bound bodies as he went. Once again he was pushing through streams of students and villagers that still remained in the streets.

Why the fuck weren't these people all safely locked away behind barricaded doors? Why weren't these students on their way out through the secret passageway?

At least Malfoy had secured the perimeter as he'd asked of him, with some of the older students capable of producing any form of Patronus. Mostly Harry saw mist, but there was a rabbit, owl, and kangaroo that he could make out. But even their protection was dwindling away.

Orion was already on his knees with three dementors swarming him, trying to suck out his soul. Some other students were in a similar position.

"Harry!" he heard Lucretia scream again, spurring him from the momentary terror he felt at the scene.

Harry Apparated next to Orion, protecting him from the onslaught of dark-cloaked creatures. His Patronus immediately appeared at his side, sending the nearest dementors fleeing. His dragon spread it's enormous wings, proudly protecting him, Lucretia, and Orion, who was now sprawled unconscious at his side.

At the sight of his Patronus, the other students staggered in relief—barely registering its majestic form—only glad they didn't have to fend off the Dementors alone anymore. Most of them fell to the ground unconscious, but Malfoy and two seventh-year Gryffindors managed to keep up their Patronus.

"Leave," Harry growled to the rest of the swarming Dementors, making the dragon at his side roar. The dementors screeched and quickly took flight.

Once he was sure that the dementors had all left, Harry released his Patronus, feeling thoroughly drained.

He took a moment to assess the damage around him and sighed. Several children looked injured, many more were unconscious. But hopefully, none were dead, and the worst of it behind them.

But if that's true then why hadn't the anti-apparition wards dropped?

That thought had him instantly back on alert.

Why were they still up? Where were the Aurors and Professors?

Harry turned to Lucretia, who was now kneeling next to her brother, looking unharmed. Cygnus had joined her, and besides a few scratches, also seemed in perfect health.

Harry rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck before he placed a powerful Feather-light charm on Orion.

"You need to get to Honeydukes now, Lucretia. Cygnus, help her carry Orion and get as many people as you can to go with you," he ordered them firmly as his eyes swept over the area.

"Harry?" Lucretia asked him with a small trembling voice.

"Don't ask too many questions, Cretia love. All I know is that this isn't over yet and that you all need to get out of here before more men come marching in."

"Come on, Lucretia," Cygnus urged her as he took an anxious look around them.

"What about you, Harry?" she asked him, concern shining brightly in her beautiful eyes.

"I'll be fine," he smirked, hoping it would ease her fears. "You make sure that your brother and cousin get somewhere safe." She gave an unsure nod but knew he was right. She had to make sure her family was safe.

"Be careful," she whispered, before swinging one of Orion's arms around her shoulder while Cygnus took the other. With one last distressed look back, they left, trying to get as many people's attention on her way as they could.

"Malfoy! Lestrange!" He bellowed, turning around to face their eagle spread forms on the ground. "Follow Lucretia and Cygnus, and help them get as many people off the streets as you can. Prevent anyone who tries from going up to the castle. We don't know if there are men hiding there, and there are some serious wards around the village," he warned them.

With two simultaneous nods, they got to their shaky feet and did as was ordered of them.

Next, Harry's eyes searched for the one person he needed to reassure himself was safe—and finally, he caught sight of him jogging his way, not looking too bothered by his left arm which dangled oddly at his side.

Numbing charm, Harry assumed. He doubted it would last very long.

"Hadrian!" he exclaimed with evident relief and came to an abrupt halt a foot away from him. He bent forward and rested his arms on his knees, completely out of breath.

Through many short gasps, Tom managed to rasp out, "I found a fifth-year Hufflepuff slumped against a wall on my way here. There is something wrong with her lungs. I think a rib might have punctured it. I don't know how long she'll make it…" he trailed off. "And where the hell are the Professors and the Headmaster? We could have really used their help fifteen minutes ago. And don't we have Aurors to deal with this kind of situation?" he criticised venomously.

"There are some heavily complex wards placed around the village, Tom. They probably took out any attending faculty members before the ambush started, but I can feel the Headmaster and Dumbledore trying to break through the wards as we speak," Harry informed him reassuringly.

Sure, he could have taken the wards down himself, but he thought that he already had more than enough to explain. Any more feats of great magic and all his carefully laid plans would be ruined. In fact, he still hadn't decided if he wanted to obliviate Tom seeing him take the killing curse for him. But that was a problem for later.

"Take me to the girl, Tom. I'll try to help her as best as I can." Tom nodded his head and was about to lead the way when Harry suddenly caught sight of Fleamont running their way. "Harry!" he yelled to get his attention even though he was now only a hair's breadth away from him.

Harry motioned for Tom to wait before turning around to face Fleamont. "Why aren't you getting people through the tunnel, Potter?" he snapped at him. "Most students should have already gone through by now."

"Can't get through," Fleamont managed to gasp between deep lungfuls of breath. "There seems to be a ward blocking us. I've got two seriously injured students because of it. Blasted them twenty feet back."

"Fuck," Harry cursed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "We're caged in here," he suddenly realised.

"That's why I came to find you. There is no way out of Hogsmeade, Harry. Anyone that tried bypassing the wards was repelled," he told him, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

Smart man, he knew it wasn't over yet.

What the fuck did Grindelwald have planned?

"How injured?" he asked him, looking sideways at Tom who was waiting impatiently.

"Peverell," Tom intoned warningly. The girl didn't have much time left.

"Nothing a few sixth and seventh-years can't handle," Fleamont reassured.

"Good, then get everyone the fuck inside. I don't want to see anyone out on the streets. Make people carry their schoolmates. Ward all the doors with your best standing students. Give everyone affected by the Dementors some chocolate. It'll help, trust me." he told him when his grandfather shot him a bewildered look.

"Peverell!" snapped Tom, and Harry gave him a quick nod.

"Stay safe, Fleamont. And be ready for anything," he warned before taking off after Tom.

_'Death!'_  he mentally projected.  _'I need you to find out what the hell is happening! Like, right the fuck now!'_

_'I can see the Headmaster with Dumbledore and some Aurors. They are working on taking down the wards, but there is no sign of Grindelwald or any more of his men.'  
_  
 _'This doesn't add up, Death. Find Grindelwald and get me his fucking plan,'_  Harry snapped as he jumped over one of the men he had bound.  _'There must be a reason why he would cage more than half the school in this fucking village. Find out what before it's too late.'_

As Harry rounded the last corner, he saw Tom standing next to a blonde girl lying on her back whose face was turning an unhealthy shade of purple. She had tears streaming down her face and looked to be in an unbearable amount of pain.

He closed the distance between them and skidded to his knees next to her.

"Don't worry," he whispered reassuringly, wiping her hair from her face. "I'll make the pain go away," he promised before sending her into a fitful sleep.

Harry closed his eyes and placed a hand over her ribs, trying to feel the exact location which was damaged. Once he managed to locate the broken bone, he slipped his wand from his holster and pointed it at the afflicted spot. Within seconds the broken bone was repaired, together with her punctured lung.

"So you're a healer as well as impervious to the killing curse?" Tom couldn't help but ask when he saw the unconscious girl take in her first easy breath of air, trying to ignore the fact that his numbing spell was wearing off too quickly.

Harry snapped his eyes towards Tom from where he was still crouched down, and narrowed them warningly. In an instant, Harry was back on his feet and closing the distance between him and Tom. He barely managed to restrain himself from grabbing him by the collar of his robes. "Don't ever mention that in public again," he growled threateningly, sending an unpleasant shiver down Tom's spine.

Taken aback by the sudden hostility, all Tom could do was nod his head, the fact that he just took down more than thirty trained men still fresh in his mind. "We understand each other, then. Good. Now turn around and let me look at your arm," he ordered brusquely.

Tom was about to protest, but at that exact moment, he had to squeeze his eyes shut as the numbing spell wore off and an intense pain spread up from his elbow to his shoulder. He could feel the curse slowly crawling to his chest, causing hairline fractures as it went. Tom figured that this wasn't the time to play at being modest and humble.

Resigned, Tom turned so that Hadrian could try and mend his shattered left arm.

"Fuck," he heard Harry mumble once he was done with a series of diagnostic spells.

"What is it?" Tom asked him frantically, not feeling particularly reassured by that exclamation.

"It's nothing," Harry said hastily without looking away from Tom's arm. "It's just more complicated than I thought it would be," he sighed and grimaced. "Right. I'm going to need you to sit down and bite down on your sleeve, Tom. We can't wait to get to the infirmary for potions because if I don't fix this now…" he trailed off wincing.

"Just do what you have to do, Hadrian," Tom groaned out through his pain. He braced himself against the wall behind him and slid down to the ground. Grabbing his right sleeve with his teeth, he then nodded his consent for Harry to continue.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, and then there was nothing but searing pain for Tom. His vision went dark as piece after piece the bones snapped back into place. He could feel each torn muscle healing itself in a rush of fire until finally the pain was gone.

Tom spat out his sleeve and moaned out in relief as he opened his blurry eyes. "Thank you," he croaked out to a gasping and pale-faced Hadrian, wincing at the burning in his throat. Had he screamed?

"No problem, Tom," he murmured tiredly, suddenly feeling very much his age. "I'm just going to…" he trailed off before abruptly sprawling himself down on the floor next to Tom. "Just for a few seconds," he murmured, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

_'I apologise if I'm interrupting tea-time, but I've got something you're not going to like, Harry,'_ he suddenly heard Death's frantic voice in his head.

_'Naturally,'_ he groaned despondently, letting his head fall back against the wall. He'd really been hoping that for once he'd be wrong because he could seriously go for a small kip right about then.

_'Grindelwald is determined to blow this whole place up. He's placed three muggle bombs around the village, set to detonate in five minutes and thirty-seven, thirty-six, and counting.'  
_  
Forgetting himself, Harry sat up from his hunched position. "Excuse me?!" he exclaimed out loud, no longer feeling tired as a new rush of adrenaline shot through his veins.  _'There are over forty of his men in here with us! He's not actually going to try to blow us all up, is he?'_

_'The Dark Lord probably thinks it's for the best. It's not good for him to have so many of his men captured. A few of them are bound to talk eventually.'_

"Peverell?" Tom asked him cautiously, turning around to face him, but Harry was focused on Death and already getting up to his feet.

_'I managed to pluck the memory of a map from one of Grindelwald's generals,'_  he told him, flashing through the image of said map. _'I think we can go ahead and assume that the three spots on the map marked with a red X are the locations of the highly explosive Nazi bombs. And, Harry—'_ he paused and sighed.  _'Not that we didn't already assume so, but this whole attack was a test for you. He wants to get rid of you, and if you show yourself resourceful and survive, recruit you. The wards and the other four attacks were a distraction so that no one would be able to come to your aid."'_

Harry had thought as much. He felt too much like a mouse trapped in a cage.

Harry really wanted to snap something sarcastic back at Death, but by now Tom was pulling at the sleeve of his robes, trying to get his attention.

"Hadrian! Talk to me!" he exclaimed, ready to slap him back into reality.

"Tom! Do you remember that somewhat greyish-area shield we talked about on our first tutoring session? The one that's theoretically meant to protect you from a non-magical explosion?"

Seeing how distressed Hadrian looked, Tom promptly nodded his head.

"In five minutes I want you to bring that shield up, understood?" he asked him firmly.

"What's go-" Tom began to ask but was quickly cut off.

"You don't have to know the details, Tom. You just have to trust me. What I'm asking you to do is merely a precaution. Hopefully, I'll be able to get to the bombs in time."

"Bombs?" Tom gulped at the mention of those abominations. He couldn't possibly mean that there were muggle bombs hidden in the village?

Harry swore and quickly grabbed Tom's face between his hands. "The shield, Tom. Can you do it?" he asked him seriously.

_'Time isn't our friend right now, Harry,'_  came Death's urgent warning.

Tom looked directly into Harry's worried emerald eyes and steeled himself. Harry needed to get this done. He couldn't be worrying about Tom right now so he wouldn't give him a reason to.

"Yes," he told him resolutely.

"Good," Harry whispered, relieved, and placed a quick kiss to his forehead.

Tom gasped at the contact and couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut. Before he could tell him to stay safe, Hadrian was gone.

* * *

"How much are you willing to bet that there are anti-vanishing wards around the bombs?" Harry asked Death as he rummaged through a bunch of bushes looking for the blasted bomb as located on the map.

"The existence of the human race," came the muttered reply from next to him.

A few meters later Harry heard the telling beeping sound of a bomb nearby and quickly hurried to follow it to his target. And there it was, not so innocently lying around.

He immediately tried to vanish it with a wave of his hand, but sure enough, there it still was, lying between the bushes and emitting that irritating beeping sound.

"Bugger," Harry whined unattractively.

"If you use any more magic on that thing it'll-"

"I know.  _Kaboom_ ," Harry grumbled. "I'm just going to have to do this the muggle way, then," he said, not sounding too confident in his abilities. And since it's been around three-hundred years since he had last played around with one of these things, no one could really blame him.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and crouched down next to it. Slowly he removed the shell to get to the timer and found a lot of pretty coloured wires underneath.

"You don't happen to remember which colour I need to cut first, do you?" Harry asked Death as he conjured himself a pair of small cutters. When the only answer that greeted him was silence, he sighed and mumbled, "Forget I even asked."

"Less than three minutes," came Death's ever-helpful reply as he sceptically eyed Harry and the bomb.

"Just shut the fuck up," Harry snapped, trying to ignore the sweat that had gathered on his brows. He focused on the task at hand and dug deep into his memories.

"Blue, green, red, brown, yellow… so many damned colours," he growled. "Right, got to be this one," he mumbled before going ahead and cutting through the wire.

When nothing happened, he breathed out a sigh of relief. Feeling much more confident, he cut off the next two, successfully disabling the timer.

"Brilliant, Harry. Only two more to go," Death cheered. Harry thought that sarcasm wasn't necessarily appropriate right now.

The next bomb was found behind a tree in a villager's garden. Harry was just grateful they weren't more creative with their hiding location.

"Right, then. Where is the next one hidden, Death?" he asked him as he tried to wipe away the sweat from his face, only succeeding in smearing it with mud and blood.

Death nervously cleared his throat before saying ever so cryptically. "We should have really taken a moment to look at this more closely before we started."

"Where?" Harry demanded, already fearing the worst.

"It's somewhere in the Three Broomsticks," he informed him, and in a blink, Harry was gone.

Once he appeared into the pub, he instantly had several wands pointed at him.

At least they were being vigilant, Harry gulped, going cross-eyed as one of the wands came particularly close to his handsome face.

"Lower your wands!" Harry heard Alphard command from the back of the room. "It's Hadrian!" he exclaimed when no one seemed to budge.

At that, all the wands were quickly lowered to the ground.

"What's going on, Harry? Are you alright? It looks like the battle is over, but Fleamont came by and told us that we can't get out of the village. He said to stay put."

_'Less than two minutes, Harry,'_  Death warned him, and with that Harry jumped up onto one of the tables, startling most of the occupants of the pub.

"Alright you guys, listen up! I need you all to be silent and listen closely to your surroundings. When someone locates an unusual beeping noise, holler!"

Looking confused at his request, they warily began listening around them, and not ten seconds later a fourth-year Gryffindor screamed out, "Here, Peverell! There is something behind our booth."

"Out of the way!" he barked as he jumped off the table. Everyone quickly moved to the side as commanded, shoving each other out of the way.

Harry waved his hand to disable the Disillusion charm on the bomb, and once his wild green eyes caught sight of it he turned ashen-faced.

Runes. Several complicated curse runes.

"Buggering fucking fuck. Oh, Merlin's saggy balls. Fuck!" he muttered wide-eyed at the contraption.

"EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS PUB AND RUN!" he bellowed.

Not needed to be told twice, everyone started rushing for the door, and not necessarily in a calm and orderly fashion.

"Harry! What's going on?!" Of course Alphard wouldn't listen to him.

"Get the hell out of here, Black! This place is about to blow up!" he warned him as he concentrated on the runes in front of him.

"Then what the hell are you still doing in here?" Alphard asked him frantically, going to grab him by his shirt to drag him out, but Harry savagely shrugged him off.

"This thing is about as nuclear as it gets when nuclear is three sodding years away from being invented, Alphard! I need to fucking try and contain the blast before it massacres the whole village and surrounding area. Leave!"

"Then we'll just blow up together because I'm not leaving you here alone," Alphard insisted stubbornly. Any other moment Harry would have thought that it was such a sweet thing to say, but today he turned his fiery emerald eyes towards Alphard before forcefully unclenching his fist and sending Alphard flying backwards towards the door.

"I can't die, you imbecile! But you can! So get the hell out!" he screamed, before magically shoving him out the rest of the way.

_'Twenty-seven seconds.'_

_'I've got this,'_  Harry growled. He knew he wasn't going to be able to prevent the explosion, but he could contain it considerably if he got the runes off.

One after another they fell away uselessly beneath Harry's practised fingers, and just in time, Harry managed to raise an impressive shield around the bomb before he found himself flung through the walls of the pub and crashing harshly into the gravel road outside.

His ears were ringing, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, but at least he was still breathing. No temporary trips to the in-between. That was good. That was very good. Much less to explain this way, he thought dazedly as he lay unmoving on his back.

At least it should all be over now, he sighed.

"Not that I don't think that you deserve a little lie-down, Harry, but you might want to take a moment to look around you," Death told him, his tone cold and clipped.

As he tried to pick up his head up from the floor Harry grunted in pain and quickly decided that it was much too stressful and simply peeked through his left eye.

In a flash, he was on his feet, and that was something he really should  _not_ have done.

His back must be on fire, it must be, there was no other explanation for the agonising pain he felt shooting up his back, pain that caused his knees to buckle and forced his breath to constrict in his chest.

The only thing holding him up was his instinctive magic, but even that was depleting rapidly in strength.

He was fucked. Not only because of his injuries—those were the least of his worries, really—but he was thoroughly and irrevocably fucked because he was surrounded on all sides by twenty of Grindelwald's men, each of them holding one of his classmates hostage. Directly in front of him stood Gellert Grindelwald himself, pointing his wand threateningly at Alphard's throat.

They must have been keyed into the wards and gotten through while he was working on the runes.

So, the later-issue had become a... well, it had become a now-issue.

Bugger him to the 1940s and back… Oh, that's right. He was already living in the time period of his nightmares.

"Can I just say that you're a very remarkable young man?" It was obviously Grindelwald that broke the silence. Harry was still reeling from the explosion that flung him through a brick wall and the fact that he was being confronted by the Dark Lord while he had absolutely no control over his bodily or mental functions. "So much more remarkable than was reported back to me," he continued, sounding plenty dismayed at his followers' shortcomings.

Harry really wanted to say something to the prick, but his vocal cords weren't functioning, which was probably due to the severe concussion he was sporting. So he had to settle with sending the man his best glare.

"You almost single-handedly took down more than forty of my men, sent my dementors fleeing, and also managed to disarm the lovely German gifts I left lying around. On top of that, you were hurtled through a brick wall after breaking through my curse runes. Yet even after all that, here you are, still standing in front of me. You'd probably even manage to duel me for a few minutes, wouldn't you, Hadrian Peverell?" he asked him curiously, with a soft and velvety voice that shouldn't belong to a monster like him.

_'Why exactly am I not sending this motherfucker into an early grave?'_  he asked Death in his head.

_'You mean besides the fact that Dumbledore would be heartbroken? It'd ruin those carefully laid plans of yours, Harry. And while I think you're an amazing wizard, you don't have enough juice left to fight off all of them. You do realise that your last bit of magic is the only thing keeping you conscious and standing, right? You're about to drop.'_  
  
"While I'm flattered that a great and powerful Dark Lord such as yourself knows who I am, I'd rather skip to the part where you let go of my friends, we fight, and you flee," he managed to say, very proud of the fact that his voice came out strong and steady.

_'You really need to learn when to hold your tongue, Harry,'_  Death sighed, shaking his head.

Grindelwald chuckled at Harry's cheek, and then took a moment to roam his blue eyes over his form, and while being appraised Harry saw a glint in those cold blue eyes that was a tad too familiar.

"It would be such a shame to dispose of a fine young man such as yourself. You would be greatly valued at my side, Hadrian. I'll take you further than you ever dreamed of going," he tried to tempt him.

"My apologies, Gellert, my man, but I'm not much of a follower-type. Not really my style, you see," Harry shrugged, desperately holding back his wince at the painful movement. 'Show no weakness' and all that rot, but that didn't mean he wasn't painfully aware of the torn-up skin on his back, or the fact that his head was cracked open.

Thankfully, right then, he felt the wards around the village break, and not a moment later Dumbledore was at his side with his wand pointed at Grindelwald. Not that he could do much since Grindelwald was still using Alphard as a shield.

"I'll let you live for today, Hadrian James Peverell. You, too, Albus," Grindelwald smirked, finally prying his eyes off Harry to look at his former lover to send him a wink. "Until we meet again," he said, and then they were all gone in a series of loud cracks.

"About fucking time you got here, Dumbledore," Harry slurred before his world went blissfully dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! I would really appreciate your thoughts on the new chapter ^_^


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